The Propriety Failure
by WadeH
Summary: What's the worst-case scenario for a Propriety Violation? Parents chastise you? Acute embarrassment? Personal and/or family Reputation tarnished? Perhaps being forced to marry? All these things are BAD, but are they THE WORST? Let us try something even more unpleasant, shall we? (Warnings - Some bad things in chapter 1, moderate angst)
1. The Seawall

_A/N: Welcome back to my loyal readers and a hearty welcome to new ones!_

_This story adds something new. I have an editor! I have finally lured my wife, Amalia into the JAFF world. She has graciously agreed to help me, and she is working with me to make the story better._

_This story has a little bit of an interesting genesis. One day, maybe six months or so past, I dreamed up a small scenario. It involved two ladies in a bit of a dire predicament and set up a certain very unpleasant situation. I liked the idea, and as is my usual custom, I started laying out a story in my head. The story came together quite nicely, all the way through to the conclusion, and all it needed was to be transcribed. I am however super-busy with RL, so time went on. _

_Sometime later, I took almost the exact same situation, and replaced one of the young ladies with a different young lady. _At_ that point, I got an entirely different story from nearly identical beginnings. I then took that story all the way through to its conclusion, so now I had two stories stuck in my head, but not a single word written down. _

_I eventually had to decide on one versus the other. I liked both so much it became close to a coin toss to decide which one would prevail. Maybe I'll write them both someday, but for the moment here's the first. _

_This begins about 4 months pre-canon, with mostly canon characters. _

_Fair warning: My fans know I hate spoilers, but I need to point out that this story has some **very bad things **in Chapter 1, and after that, it becomes moderate angst. It's 90k words, so full novel length._

_Cheater warning: I'm usually a stickler for Regency language, but I am deliberately using several terms that are quite common now, but not invented until the 20th century. I'll take my guilt to the grave. I might even slip in a contraction or two._

_Wade_

* * *

The piercing scream was cut off after only a few seconds, but the young lady recognized it instantly. There are screams, and then there are **_screams_**. This was definitely one of the latter - the bad kind. Whoever made the noise was clearly in some type of distress. It was early morning, with the sun just barely above the horizon, casting a beautiful light over the open harbor of Ramsgate. The young lady had been enjoying a solitary stroll, hoping to enjoy the morning before the area got too busy. For perhaps the first time in her life, she regretted her propensity to wander out alone. She had only barely obtained her guardian's permission for it, and only after they had been in the area for several weeks. Today was her very first day to be on her own, and with the piercing scream assaulting her ears, she wished that she had the previously disdained footman with her.

Not one to overly analyze any situation, the young lady hiked up her skirts and ran like a house afire towards the sound. The scream had not been overly loud, so she could conclude that whoever made it was reasonably close, and that it was unlikely anybody else had heard the noise. She had never seen anyone else in this area at this time of day in the several weeks she had been enjoying her morning constitutionals in the area. It seemed like it would be her task to deal with whatever this particular problem entailed. She ran like mad across the patch of grass that ran for around fifty yards from the seawall to a stand of trees, hearing the waves crashing in the rocks below the steep cliff, and eventually got close enough to hear another scream start, that once again was strangled off right in the middle.

The lady finally managed to achieve her goal, when she crashed around a short hedgerow directly into contact with the mysterious screamer. It was obvious that a violent attack was underway. There was a very‑young lady, hardly more than a child, laying on her back, being accosted by someone dressed as a gentleman, laying atop her. He was obviously _not_ a gentleman, but he certainly tried to appear to be one in his dress.

A young girl, of around fifteen years of age, was screaming her head off, any time she did not have the man's gloved fists stuffed into her mouth. When he did that, she wound up with a bit of a strangled exclamation. The man was obviously trying to have his way with her, and the young lady was trying to defend herself, with apparently more vigor than the cretin expected. The attacker was perhaps twenty-five, and he had lifted her skirts all the way to her chest, exposing every part of the poor girl's private parts to the world at large. The young girl was clawing ineffectually at the man who was at least two stone heavier, while he was stuffing a handkerchief in her mouth with one hand and reaching for the fall of his trousers with the other.

Short of being murdered, this was nearly the worst thing that could happen to a young lady. Some people would even assert that being murdered would be _preferable._ Preventing such atrocities was one of the reasons young ladies were _not_ supposed to be out alone, although that amounted to punishing women for men's crimes. Whether the evil man managed to actually insert his manhood into the young lady or not, was at this point almost irrelevant. In the eyes of society, the lady was already ruined. In fact, in the almost inevitable case of the morning's actions becoming well known, _both_ young ladies would be _tainted, _as would their sisters, mothers and the rest of their families_._ Society was a harsh and nonsensical way to organize your populace, but two nearly powerless females were unlikely to change its strictures.

Of course, neither of the young ladies were thinking in such deep terms. They were not thinking at all, but rather operating on their instincts. _Flight_ was impossible, so _fight _was the only option remaining save capitulation. For perhaps the thousandth time, the elder of the two ladies regretted the upbringing thrust on young ladies, who were widely considered the _weaker sex_, mostly by men who would faint at the very thought of even contemplating expelling an eight-pound ball of screaming baby from their body into the world. Weaker sex, indeed!

Whatever the reason, their upbringing was what it was, so both ladies were at a decided disadvantage. Had they been boys, they would have learned how to give or take a beating as part of the normal course of being boys. It had always seemed to the lady that there was no insult or provocation too slight to tempt a gaggle of boys into settling the disputes with fists or sticks. A young man her age would have some idea how to use his fists, or he would at least have some vague notion of what to do. Being short of such experience, the lady fell to the only weapon she saw at hand.

The pretend gentleman had a walking stick laying on the ground about a half dozen steps from where the altercation was taking place, so they lady in desperation picked it up, and swung it as hard as she could at the attacker. The cane was stronger than it looked, and it connected with the attacker's shoulder with a satisfying clunk, and the vermin was thrown from the young girl.

The lady looked at her handiwork in satisfaction but could only barely start a self-congratulatory bit of gloating before the attacker jumped back up from the ground and connected his fist with her head with what pugilists would call a _roundhouse punch_. She fell over backwards, tearing her gown on a short hedge in a most unpleasant way, and she simultaneously felt a sharp branch tear a chunk out of her lower calf, which hurt like hell.

Nothing in the young lady's life had prepared her for the intense pain that accompanied that punch and the subsequent injury. Nothing _could have_ prepared her for the way her mind seemed to instantly split into three distinct pieces that seemed to operate independently.

The first part was an intense feeling of pain that alternately wanted her to scream with all her might, whilst simultaneously curling up into a ball to cry for a week. Two places on her body were significantly injured, and the rest of it felt like she had been run through a mill.

The second portion was sitting back critically examining her present situation, and thinking of all the inevitable repercussions to herself, her family, the unfortunate young girl and her family. Ruined reputations, rumors and blasted marriage prospects seemed the least of the likely consequences.

Luckily, the third part of her mind was not quite so introspective. No, that part of her mind was not introspective in the least. That part of her mind was spitting mad_._ That part of her mind had endured just about all it had in mind to endure. That part of her mind did not care about the future, beyond the next five seconds. It did not care about propriety or decorum or politeness or society or reputations or ladylike behavior or tea or cake or gowns or _anything at all _except for the fact that it still had hold of the walking stick.

Without any conscious design, that part of her mind took hold of the walking stick with both hands and swung it in a tight arc at any part of the attacker's anatomy that was within reach. Like most young ladies of her station, she had played cricket from time to time, so swinging such an instrument was not _entirely_ a new experience, but she not could claim any real proficiency. Be that as it may, through either skill or luck, the instrument connected first with the man's raised fist that was at the time headed towards the young lady's face with a killing blow, and then for good measure and adequate completion of the exercise, it continued along to connect with his left ear.

With a doubly resounding thunk that had a more definitive sound to it, the attacker went down and, at least for the moment, did not appear likely to continue the fight.

Both the young ladies, victim and rescued, stood stock still. The rescuer was watching the attacker for movement, and the victim was simply staring at the sky with tears rolling down her cheeks as she scrambled ineffectually with her hands trying to remove the handkerchief from her mouth. The attacker's head was pointed away from both, but he seemed to be unconscious, at least for the moment.

The elder of the ladies fell to her knees next to the younger, took charge of the handkerchief, and gathered the child in her arms, whilst doing her best to simultaneously pull the poor girl's skirts down and keep an eye on the unconscious attacker. She knew there was very little time, so while the lady would well have preferred to take the young girl to bed and hold her while she cried her eyes out, it was not to be. Actions had to be taken, so she said the first of what she hoped would be very few words of the entire encounter.

"Miss, I hate to press you, but we must leave this place. It is _tremendously unfair_, but we _cannot_ be caught here. Our entire lives would be irrevocably ruined if we were to be discovered."

Only sniffles came as a response, so more drastic action was required. The young lady had encountered enough crying girls to recognize the symptoms of shock, but her head hurt abominably, her vision was fuzzy, she was absolutely certain she would sport an enormous bruise on her cheek, her leg was starting to bleed moderately, and her mind was still furiously thinking along all three tracks. Added to all that, her mind added a fourth track that was screaming at the top of its lungs, '**_ENOUGH! HE SHALL NOT WIN!_**'

Hating herself for what must be done, she stood up, reeling with dizziness, then reached for the young girl's hands and unceremoniously yanked her to her feet. The young girl looked at her in confusion, but steady to her purpose, the elder tamped down all her feelings of empathy and sympathy, then did what had to be done.

"**MISS!** I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I _fear your childhood just ended._ Ready or not, you are a woman now, and you shall have to start acting like one."

The elder could but wonder when the next expression on the girl's face was one of confusion, but she finally said, "But… but… but… No! He did not… he did not… you saved… the deed was unfinis…"

That line of thinking would be singularly unhelpful, so the elder redirected.

"You mistake me, Young Lady. It may be true that your _virtue_ is still intact, but you and I are both in very precarious positions. We will both be considered _ruined_ by this pernicious society if today's events become known, and _I will not have it!_ I will _not_ let that man win! I neither know nor care who you are or why you are out here unprotected, but it matters not. Both of us _chose_ to move about unaccompanied, and both of us must be willing to suffer the consequences. I will take my fair share, but _no more_."

Almost by reflex, the younger of the ladies made a shallow curtsey and said, "I am Georgiana Darcy and…"

"**STOP!**", the elder of the two hissed in distress.

This naturally set the younger back on the course of panicked crying, which was not her intention, so the elder shook her a bit and said in a calmer voice, "_Please, Miss._ I am not so very angry with you, but it is _absolutely imperative_ that we _not_ know anything about each other. I wish I did not know your name. I will forget it forthwith, and I assure you, it shall never pass my lips even once."

This just produced more confusion, but fortunately, the confusion replaced some of the hurt and tears, so the younger replied, "But, why? You have saved my life, why should you not be properly thanked. You should be feted, not ignored. I owe you everything!"

The elder wanted very much to take control of the conversation, so she replied, "Miss, do you know how dire our situation is? Do you know how the law of the land works for people like me?"

The younger just shook her head, so the elder replied, "This is England! There are _over 800 crimes punishable by death. _Boys much younger than us are hanged for stealing apples or taking a rabbit from an estate's woods. We live in a terribly unjust society. That cretin would likely not even be charged, let alone convicted of his crimes, if everyone in Ramsgate witnessed it personally. The worst that would happen to him is he might be strongly encouraged to ruin the rest of your life through marriage. With your position in life, that was probably his intent. Even that level of punishment would be unlikely if he were a peer or other high-status man. _And yet,_ if he happens to die from my perfectly moral defense of you, _which we have no evidence he will,_ then _I could hang_ for it, which I assure you, I do _not_ intend to do."

The young girl, obviously completely unaware of just how dire the situation was simply started sputtering, "But… but… but."

Finding that unhelpful, the elder continued relentlessly, saying, "One of the crimes that is punishable by death is _perjury_. It is unlikely for someone of your obvious class, but it _could_ happen if you lie to a magistrate. However, and _this is important so listen carefully_, you cannot be charged with lying for _failing to tell something you do not know._ Ignorance is to be your shield. You do not know me, and you never will. I will leave Ramsgate, and should you ever have the misfortune to encounter me again, _you will not know me_. Is that understood?"

Still confused beyond measure, the young girl just nodded her head. She may not understand, but she could be both in awe and frightened of her elder, who was the fiercest woman she had ever seen, at the same time. She would remember. That was all that was required for the moment.

The elder kept on in the same fashion. She was feeling dizzy from the blow to the head and could feel more and more blood pooling on her leg which she could not mitigate at that time, so she had to get this job done with.

"_Listen carefully._ We do not have much time, and we both must be away from here. How did you come to be out here alone? Do you not have a companion? Is someone likely to come here looking for you? Will someone miss you?"

It was obvious that the younger lady was of much higher circles, and such girls were the targets of every fortune hunting scoundrel in the world. Only the most lackadaisical guardian in England would let a young girl wander around alone with a dress that screamed _first circles_ in its very fabric. The young lady's dress cost more than most families spent on their entire wardrobe, it was probably one of dozens she owned, and that fact was obvious to everyone. The girl _must_ have sneaked away from whoever her guardian was, and she would now have to pay the price.

The young lady said, "I… I… I know that man, and my companion… ah… well… she _encouraged_ me to spend time with him… alone."

That statement nearly sent the elder lady into shock, and the younger into a ball of shame once both realized how incredibly bad the companion was, and how hopelessly stupid the victim herself had been. Nothing was said for nearly a full minute as the full import of the situation sank in. Finally, the elder said incredulously, "So, you _know_ that man?"

The younger just nodded her head in shame, while the elder wished she could remove the knowledge from her head. For whatever reason, the young lady had made an incredibly bad series of decisions, and it might well ruin both of their lives.

The elder thought about it for a moment, and finally let the aggressive part of her mind take over.

"Here is what we will do. _Pay attention! _I will only say this once!"

The younger nodded her head in acquiescence, whilst turning her head to make sure the man was still unconscious.

The rescuer was having none of that and reached her hand up to the young girl's chin to turn it back before she could see him, saying, "**NO**! Listen! Understand! That man was alive and moving the last time you saw him, and as far as you are concerned, in that state he remains. You are going to run from here as fast as your legs will move. You will never volunteer what happened here to anyone… I mean anyone. Not your guardian, not your brother, sister, father, uncle or best friend… not even your eventual husband. You never‑ever volunteer information about this morning. Do you understand?"

The young miss now looked more in awe than confusion, which was much to her purpose, as the lady continued relentlessly.

"If, and I must stress the if part of this, you are ever asked _directly_ about the state of that man, you will _state truthfully_ that he was _alive and well_ the last time you saw him. _Do you understand?"_

She nodded again.

"Can you sneak into the house?"

The girl nodded. She sneaked out and could get back in undetected.

"Stand still!"

The lady then walked around the girl, whilst keeping a wary eye on the unconscious attacker and keeping her weapon handy. She very carefully examined the girl's clothing and appearance. Through what could only be considered the very best of luck in this unfortunate situation, the girl's clothing was completely undamaged, so that fact was remarked with some relief.

"All right, here is what you will do. Your dress is mostly undamaged, so get back to your home and get to bed with nobody the wiser. Then, you need to get rid of your companion subtly, and not for several weeks. Write to your guardian, whoever that is, but do it with normal post, not express. Do not do anything suspicious. Do nothing to raise concerns in your guardian _or_ your companion. Get him to visit, and then tell him some relatively innocuous tale that is enough to dismiss the companion, but not without reference, and _not_ related to this scum. Can you do that?"

The younger looked shocked, and said, "You wish me to lie to my br…"

She managed to just barely stop before mentioning the relationship to her guardian and colored in embarrassment once again.

"_Yes, you need to lie._ _Disguise is my abhorrence,_ but it is imperative he _not_ know what happened here. Do you want _him_ to carry the burden for _your mistake_, in addition to what he already carries? What would that accomplish? You would be just as miserable, and your revealing it would double the burden rather than halve it. Do you think he will feel he has just narrowly avoided disaster, or will he feel like a failure because he did not protect you? Will he ship you off to relatives in shame? Worse yet, should you reveal what happened here; you will add one more person that is a danger to me! You cannot do it. You and I will have to carry our secrets to the grave."

The younger looked a bit petulant and said, "That is tremendously unfair!"

Sighing, the more mature of the two said, "Yes, it is, but it is the way of the world. Tell me something young lady. Did your governess fail to teach you the basic rules of propriety? Did your companion drag you out here to meet that man against your will? Were you in some way unaware just how improper it was?"

The look of shame was enough to answer the question, and trying to decide between harsh or gentle discipline, her companion continued, "You made your own bed, my dear, and you made _mine_ while you were at it. _Your actions_ brought you to this place. I cannot blame you for wandering alone since I am doing the same thing, but _I am not clandestinely meeting a man. I would never do so!"_

The younger looked as if she might fall over in shock, or shame, or perhaps just the entirely new experience of being taken to task by someone who was not impressed with her name, connections or position in life. Either way, she seemed incapable of responding.

"This is important young lady, so hear me well. That cretin has _almost all_ the blame for this debacle that will affect both of our lives forever, but _you need to own your share_. I will also own my share. Basic honesty demands that. You will have to lie to everyone you know, at least by omission, for the rest of your life. I will have to do the same, but at least give yourself the honor of not lying to yourself. We will be just two more of the many-many‑many people in the world that must carry a burden they do not deserve. Get used to it and quit whingeing about it. You will _never_ heal if you do not own your share of the blame, and correct whatever defect of your upbringing and character brought you to this place."

The young lady seemed ready to fight the stricture, but there was truly no more time, so the elder concluded the discussion.

"Go home, Miss. Think about what you have done and not done. Correct whatever part of your character needs correction. Learn whatever rules of society you have remained ignorant or willful about. _Do not let this incident define you!_ Become the lady you were born to be. Become a woman of substance and character. On second thought, _do let this define you!_ Let it define you as a lady who faced up to her difficulties like a grown woman, learned from it, and then did the right thing. Can you do that?"

They stared at each other for a moment and, finally, the younger nodded.

"Very well. Do not look at that creature. Do not even turn in that direction. Walk the other way. Go home. Make something of yourself. Take my blessings with you and live a good life. We shall never meet again, but please remember that _I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you._ You have survived this, and your bad day might one day save some other hapless young lady from the same fate. Do not try to redress the past, but rather move forward with a worthwhile life. You have my respect in advance, I entreat you to earn it."

With that, she placed a small kiss on the young girl's forehead and bade her to be on her way.


	2. The Beach

_A/N: Man, having an editor sitting on the same bed is brutal. She makes me actually write better stories. Yikes._

_Thanks for all the reviews and the guesswork. Some wondered about the story length. This will be a short novel, about 16 chapters or so._

_Wade_

* * *

Once the young girl was on her way back to whatever she was to make of the rest of her life, the elder sighed and tried to _make her courage rise at this attempt to intimidate her_. The lady knew full well that things would never be the same… ever. Her life was irrevocably changed. That did not alter the fact that she had to do her best to protect herself, or at the very least, protect her family.

Leaning on her courage, she finally moved to the other side of the villain laid out on the ground and looked carefully at his face. It would have been a handsome face, a face that would have had young women everywhere swooning, if it did not contain staring, lifeless eyes. There was little doubt that this particular villain had committed his last of probably a long series of heinous acts, and all that remained was to make sure this chapter of his life ended with the right punctuation.

The plan to just walk away and leave him was thought of and discarded quickly. Any serious investigation of a dead man with bruised knuckles and a walking stick with blood on it would not require a genius to decipher. Any non‑trivial investigation would find both her and her young accomplice within days. Both ladies would likely be hauled up on charges, which _could_ easily result in at least one lady being transported or hanged. The other might get by because she had actually done nothing wrong, or because she was probably part of a very rich and influential family. The victim _might_ just get away with it, but a lady with no particular standing, no reputation… no money… well, she might not be so lucky.

A passion for literature had informed the young lady that prostrate villains could be moved when necessary. With a resigned sigh, she decided to see if the novels were correct. Carrying a feeling of dread, and a shiver that could not be repressed, she grabbed the dead meat by its coat sleeves, and pulled it half upright. She looked carefully at the ground that needed to be covered and could see no alternative to dragging. Standing carefully behind his back, she reached under his shoulders, clasped her hands together across his chest, and with a mighty heave, lifted him off the ground and dragged him backwards one step. Inch by inch, step by step, she continued the process. One big breath, one big heave, one more step backwards, and another foot of ground covered. She counted it most fortunate that the grass, covered in dew that would evaporate within the next quarter hour, showed two parallel lines where the heels of his boots dragged, but no further evidence of what had taken place. Nobody would see those, for which she was eternally grateful.

Once she felt the last of her heaves propel her against the seawall, she paused for only a moment to catch her breath. Looking around to be sure she was unseen, the lady searched inside the man's coat to see what could be found. She was undecided if it would be better or worse for the cretin to be identified, but at least wanted to know what her options were. Quite surprisingly, she found a billfold with £137 in bank notes, yet more than £700 of vowels, so called _debts of honor_. Apparently, the man was yet another type of scoundrel, a gambler. It took no more than a moment to find a small hidden hole in the face of the seawall, stuff the money inside and cover it with a rock. If all went to plan, she would return for it before she left Ramsgate. The lady had _no intention_ of swinging for this man, and £137 was plenty of money for a sensible lady such as herself to get to the continent, or even one of the colonies, and to live very simply for long enough to establish a profession. She could and would, if necessary, go somewhere the laws of England could not catch her. She even, for a moment, thought she might do it _now,_ if it would not harm her family or Miss Darcy. She just hated that she knew that name, and she would endeavor to forget it.

The man also had a hipflask, engraved with the letters 'GW', although whether that was the cretin's name, or it was something else stolen, she had no idea. It mattered not, but the lady thought it was probably better for the man to be identified than not, so she put it back where she found it. With one last mighty heave, she lifted the body up and laid it out on the seawall. The thought of saying a prayer for such a spawn of the devil filled her with revulsion, so with a feeling of 'good riddance', she gave a mighty shove and rolled him off the seawall for his last journey.

In the first bit of pure indulgence since the incident began, the young lady leaned as far out as she could on the seawall and watched the body bounce off one rock, then another, then another, and thence finally into the crashing waves. She even indulged herself for a full minute of watching the waves gradually pound what was left of the body against the rocks again and again and again. Once she had satisfied her sense of justice, knowing that the man was dead enough, she looked around to judge the conditions.

The body would either be washed out to sea and disappear forever, or it would be pounded into so much meat within the hour. Nobody would ever be able to determine anything at all about the manner of the cretin's death. The walking stick was still sitting by the seawall, so she debated for some time, and then she finally tossed it into the sea to follow its owner. The money was well‑hidden, and the twin drag marks from his boots were already faded to practically nothing. A good careful examination of the area where the altercation took place showed not the slightest evidence that three lives had been irrevocably changed less than an hour before.

Now the only problem was the massive bruise on her face, the gash on her leg and her stained and bloodied dress. Those were not things that could just be explained away, so the next part of the plan commenced.

The young lady took a careful look at her leg, and she decided it would survive what needed to be done. With a resigned sigh, she picked up her skirts, and started running. She chose a path that she had never seen a single person on before, that ran somewhat steeply down closer to a beach, and ran with abandon, looking for a specific place she had seen on her first day in Ramsgate. A quarter hour placed her in the exact spot she was looking for. There was a grassy bank, with a sharp and unstable looking edge, that nobody in their right mind would walk close to. She needed witnesses, so she walked along until she saw two men fishing from the beach, forty or fifty yards below.

The spot was perfect. The footing at the top was weak, then there was about six or ten feet of very steep sand, followed by a good dozen feet of shale. This was going to hurt. Making sure nobody was looking, she went right to the ragged edge of the path, and then she stomped her foot enough times to cave a good foot of the earth away. Then, when she felt herself start falling, she let out the most blood-curdling scream she was capable of.

True to plan, she fell into the steep sand and started rolling. _Not_ to her plan, she found herself nearly rolling to a stop a few feet short of the shale, so she then had to consciously, working hard every step of the way, roll three more times until she managed to land on the shale. Once in the shale, sliding down became much less of a problem. In fact, if anything the whole plan nearly worked too well, as she cascaded the last two-dozen feet to the beach accompanied by dozens or hundreds of stones. She very nearly gave herself the same fate as the vermin she had dispatched the hour before, but fortunately, she managed to stay just on the right side of the line the Grim Reaper called his own. Hiding the damage done during her altercation at the seawall was easily accomplished, as she had bruising now on both sides of her face, and cuts on both legs and both arms. As per plan, the cuts and bruises she started with were completely obscured with the new ones, and there was not a single inch of any bit of clothing she was wearing that could be salvaged.

The two fishermen were in every way the opposite of the cretin she had last encountered. They were _not_ gentlemen, but very rough laborers. One was a dock worker, and the other a carter. They were however exactly what gentlemen _should_ aspire to be, kind hearted and concerned. They reached the lady within less than a minute of the time she finally arrived on the beach, had her injuries assessed within another minute and had her laid out and ready for transport within two more minutes.

After that, the first problem arose. They had no idea where to take her. Being sensible men, the obvious thing to do was to take her to either of their wives, and they were just discussing which wife would be best, when the young lady stirred. The quicker of the two asked her where she was staying. She managed to give the direction before she once again succumbed to darkness.

Both men had some vague idea of how _the quality_ liked to behave and thought that a young lady wandering around alone and thence falling down a cliff face was probably out of the ordinary. They had no idea if that would affect her 'reputation', whatever that was, and did not want to test their luck, so the question became a very practical one. They could not in good conscience leave the girl unattended, nor did they particularly want to own the problem themselves. The obvious solution was to make it _somebody else's problem_. They had an address, so the right action was easy enough to take.

Both men would have no problems carrying a donkey, let alone a little slip of a girl, so they thought that if they would just quietly take her to her lodgings, then all would be well, and they both had flagons with their names on them at the pub. Now, carrying one of _the quality_ through the streets might raise questions, so they simply wrapped her up in one of the blankets they had with them. There was little chance anybody would be considered a _lady_ when wrapped in a fisherman's blanket. Taking turns, they managed to carry the limp body through back streets that were mostly empty at this time of the day, and more importantly, entirely devoid of the quality at any time of the day. There was little point in getting involved with that class of people.

Once they reached the back entrance of the house, everything became quite easy. They were uncomfortable with the whole neighborhood knowing the young lady's business, so they sought to return her quietly. They drew straws, and the unlucky one went to knock on the servant's entrance. He asked for the housekeeper, and when she appeared, he explained the problem and asked for instruction.

The housekeeper in fact _did_ know exactly what to do. She called for the mistress of the house, and then set out quietly shuffling the rest of the servants out of the way. Then she sent the most trusted footman she had out to fetch the young lady back and take her to a bedroom. She proceeded to take some of the money she kept for the household accounts and paid the men handsomely for their diligence in bringing the young lady home, and a bit extra to ensure that the incident _never happened_.

The master of the house managed to appear just at that time, and he very graciously thanked both men, asked to be sure they had been generously compensated and sent them on their way.

The mistress of the house took it upon herself and a single trusted maid to disrobe the victim and tend to her wounds. A physician was called in, but by the time he arrived the young lady had woken up, and other than having quite a lot of cuts, scrapes and bruises to deal with, appeared healthy. She would end up stuck in that bedroom for a week, and barely managed to get away to recover her survival money a fortnight later. She was owed that money and had no intentions of giving it up.

Within a month of the unfortunate incident, both young ladies took their separate leaves of Ramsgate. Both devoutly hoped to never return there again. One lady went back to her father's house. The other went back to her brother's house, without her companion who had been dismissed, but not for the actual crime she committed.

The companion wondered what happened to her partner in crime, but since he had never been a particularly reliable man, and he had a bad habit of getting into debt with the entirely wrong sort of people, it seemed likely he had met his fate at the end of a bottle or a sword. She went back to her life and forever gave up on her previous dream of untold riches at the expense of a spoiled little girl's excessive dowry.


	3. The Assembly

_A/N: Welcome to another Amalia-Improved chapter. I have been enjoying the speculation in the reviews, and several of you have guessed this segment. Thanks for keeping at it._

_Wade_

* * *

_"Which do you mean?" and turning round he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt __me__; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."  
P&P Chapter 3_

* * *

In Brooks, Whites and a few other gentlemen's clubs in London, one could easily find any number of wagers involving Charles Bingley, Fitzwilliam Darcy or both. You could easily get twenty to one if you were willing to take a stab at when Darcy would be married. You could get reasonable odds for asserting that it might be through compromise, or which particular lady would manage to get the deed done. You could get reasonable odds by even betting when he would eventually dance a second set with the same lady. The friendship of the two gentlemen was so particular, that they had a lot more traction in the betting parlors than other more ordinary gentlemen.

There was an entire line of betting, side-betting and cross-betting about when and with whom Charles Bingley would _eventually lose his temper_. The gentleman was so mild mannered, his peers considered it nearly impossible to rattle him. You could have easily gotten a thousand to one if you are willing to bet that the time would be in the middle of an insignificant country assembly in a tiny market town in Hertfordshire, and the target would be Fitzwilliam Darcy himself.

Bingley heard the words coming out of his friend's mouth, looked at the expression on the young lady's face, and determined that he had just _had enough_. In a dangerously low voice, he stood very close to his much taller friend, and practically spit out his reply.

_"I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth. I thought you to be a gentleman."_

Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man who had rarely been chastised for anything in his entire adult life, was a little bit surprised by the vehemence of the reply. His words would probably be considered a bit ungentlemanly, but considering how savage this assembly was, they did not seem all that bad to him. This was a typical marriage market, with some of the loudest, least subtle and most obnoxious matchmaking mamas he had ever had the poor fortune to encounter, and he was in no humor to tolerate them. It was his friend who was currently _vexing him_ enormously with his incessant nagging about dancing.

He replied, somewhat caustically, "Leave off, Bingley. I rarely dance, and you should know that by now. Your hounding me to do so with some unknown country maiden is not likely to change that. The matchmakers of this town have had enough sport for the evening."

The words were said with a bit of a growl, and lesser, or perhaps less angry men might have moved on, but Charles Bingley, for the first time he could remember, was having none of that.

With fists balled in anger, Bingley hissed, _"She heard you!"_

Darcy, somewhat caustically replied, "She should not be listening into private conversations."

Getting darker by the moment, Bingley's voice came out in a cross between a growl and squeak, "She is _not_ listening in to our conversation. _She is sitting in a chair in the middle of a public assembly, for Christ's sake._"

The introduction of cursing, as mild as it was, from a man who normally seemed incapable of upset, in the middle of an assembly, finally alerted Darcy that something unusual was happening. He was a bit flummoxed about why Bingley was so adamant about this particular topic. Darcy had said far worse things in the past with neither remorse nor censure, and the Bingley sisters said far worse things all day every day. Why was this specific assembly, and this specific lady so important to him?

Darcy was just about to reply, when Bingley moved even closer, and stared at him with a look that with other men could presage violence. The veins in his neck were standing out, his fists were balled up ready to strike, and for the first time Darcy saw that his amiable friend might not be as entirely amiable as he took him to be. Darcy was trying to work out whether this new more assertive Bingley would be good or bad, and what this newfound behavior would mean. All in all, Darcy was thinking it was probably a good thing, as the man was a bit _too_ amiable, which allowed people to take advantage of him. Darcy had just reached this conclusion, when Bingley continued with his own statement, as adamant as he had ever been.

"_By __Christ, __Darcy__, this is my first night here and I seem to be the only well-mannered person in my entire party._ You are supposed to be a gentleman, so by God, you will start acting like one and _you __will __fix __this_. You _will _go over to that woman and apologize, or you are will leave… now."

Taken aback by the intensity of the statement, Darcy, for the first time, really tried to think about what he had said. He was a man who did very poorly in crowded spaces, and sometimes was not even certain what came out of his mouth. It was part of the reason he tried to avoid interacting with anybody at assemblies. He had just about determined that Bingley was actually in the right and he had not acted as a gentleman. He furthermore determined to go correct himself as Bingley demanded, when he saw Bingley's look of fury turned into one of perplexity.

Visibly puzzled, Bingley queried, "Where did she go?"

Darcy turned around to follow Bingley's eyes, and saw nothing but an empty chair. He had just worked himself around to being convinced he did in fact owe the young lady an apology and wanted to get the miserable chore over with.

Bingley said, "Darcy, this is most peculiar."

The speed with which Bingley went from murderous to perplexed, somewhat confused Darcy, who replied somewhat tensely, "Bingley, what do you find so odd? As you so correctly pointed out, I _slighted_ a lady, publicly, and she decided to leave before she either heard more or watched you thrash me. Of the three people involved, she is the only one showing the slightest bit of sense."

Bingley shook his head a little bit, spent a few seconds trying to formulate his reply.

"I agree, that is the first sensible thing that has happened in these few minutes. That is not the peculiar thing though."

"So, what has you so flummoxed?"

The feeling of discomfort in the situation was rapidly being replaced by an entirely different and unwelcome feeling. He was feeling _ashamed and guilty._ All his life he had been taught to act the gentleman, and in this situation, he could not even make the slightest excuse for his behavior. Neither his attitude toward a young lady who had done him no harm and made no effort to attract him, nor his behavior to Bingley had any excuse whatsoever. Bingley was here trying to establish himself in the neighborhood, and the man's entire party was doing its best to sink his reputation before it even got started. Bingley was always loved wherever he went, but he brought two pernicious sisters, a drunken glutton of a brother-in-law, and apparently the rudest friend in the county.

This was not going to go well, and Darcy had to own up to his responsibility. The young lady must have been quite distressed, and he had to admit that if it had been his sister that was thus slighted, he would probably have his housekeeper bandaging his fists by now.

Blowing out a bit of a sigh, he said, "You are absolutely right, Bingley. I owe both you and her an apology, mostly her. Tell me what you find so confusing, and then I will get on with it."

Somewhat belatedly, Bingley looked around to make sure no one else was within hearing distance, and then replied.

"It was most singular. From the beginning of the conversation, she was _laughing at us. _I do not mean just laughing inside of her head, she was outright laughing at us. It was quiet, but it seemed as if you were the most amusing thing that she has witnessed in years. The more outrageous you got, the more amused she looked. She did not make a sound, or do anything indecorous, but she was shaking and trying her best to not let it explode."

Darcy did not know whether to be amused or offended by that, but said, "It sounds like she is more substantial than your typical young Miss. At least she has a keen sense for the ridiculous."

Bingley replied, "It all continued until I _mentioned your name_. Then her face looked like I just shot her favorite dog, and literally the next second, she was just _gone_. I swear, I blinked my eyes, and she was not there anymore. Were you introduced to her?"

Darcy just shook his head and asked, "And you?"

"No. I believe she might be one of the many Bennet sisters, but she was not there when the introductions were made. I can only guess her name from overhearing it. That is why I was going to suggest we get Miss Bennet to introduce her. I believe she is Miss Elizabeth, the second eldest, but I could be wrong."

Darcy only thought about it another second, before replying, "Well, of one thing you are both certain and correct. _I need to find her and apologize. _There is not a moment to lose._"_

Both gentlemen, acutely conscious that they were attracting more attention that they wished, and both hoping not to make things even more distressing for the young lady, split up and circled the assembly looking for her. They quickly agreed that if Bingley found her, he would simply keep her in one place long enough for Darcy to get to her. If Darcy found her, he would commence apologizing immediately; after of course finding someone to introduce them as was proper. With respect to good manners, it was better late than never. Of course, it would have been better to follow Hippocrates' 'first do no harm', but that ship had already sailed.

After at least three circuits around the assembly hall, the two gentlemen met near the door, and exited to wander up and down the halls. They eventually came back together in a small alcove next to the cloakroom to discuss the situation in whispers.

"I cannot find her. She seems to have disappeared."

"She must have been either more hurt, or more offended by that comment then it seemed, but really Darcy, there was something about _your name. _I would swear that she knows it. Perhaps your reputation precedes you."

Darcy sighed, and said, "My reputation has preceded me all my life. It is unfortunate that it very rarely matches reality, but the world is as it is. Everybody seems to think they know something about me before I ever get there. In this particular case though, if my reputation was that of a badly bred, ill‑mannered lunkhead, I would have lived up to it admirably."

"Agreed… Do you think this is a case of reputation, or something else?"

Darcy just gave a grim chuckle, and said, "What does it matter, Bingley. I acted ungentlemanly. If you will oblige me, go back to your angel and see if you can find out if it was in fact her sister. If not, beg her on my behalf to find out who it was, or introduce me and I will ask. I cannot allow this to go unapologized for a single day."

With a nod, Bingley turned to head back to the Assembly Hall. Neither gentlemen saw the young lady sitting on the floor of the cloakroom just a few feet away, and neither realized the entire conversation, and in fact nearly everything they had said to each other, had been overheard.

The gentlemen would have both been distressed to see the combination of a cascade of tears and an expression of white‑hot frustration in the lady's face. Elizabeth Bennet was a woman who did her very best to follow all the rules of propriety, protect herself and her sisters, and never act badly. She had always tried to follow her Aunt Gardiner's example of how a lady should behave. Now, twice in less than an hour, she had been forced into a position of hearing conversations _about her_ that she would rather not have heard. She was not an eavesdropper, but both times, the men left her with terribly unpalatable choices. Confronting them directly would earn her the reputation of being a shrew. Subtly directing them towards better behavior would require more influence and patience than she possessed. Ignoring them seemed impossible if they insisted on hunting her down like a frightened rabbit. At that moment, all Elizabeth wanted to do was get somewhere that was entirely free of any gentleman other than her father.

As soon as they left, she exited the cloakroom, quietly went to the door of the Assembly Hall and looked for one of her friends. Luck was with her, as she found her sister Mary, who was doing her best to avoid any type of excess frivolity. It was the work of a moment to convince Mary that they had done enough dancing between them for the evening. It was a pleasant night in early September, and the moon was well over half full. Both ladies decided to switch their dancing slippers for boots, and they walked the mile back to Longbourn. Their mother would be unhappy, but it was easy enough to get one of the servants to pass a message on to Mrs. Bennet. It would be neither the first, nor the last time Mrs. Bennet would be vexed with one or both of her middle daughters.

The next day would probably prove interesting but frightening, and Elizabeth was not in the least looking forward to it. She was not finding the idea of playing the part of the fox in a hunt appealing at all, and desperately wondered how she could keep Mr. Darcy away from her without raising too much suspicion. This was _not_ an acquaintance she could afford to have. She had too many secrets that must be kept away from the world in general, and Mr. Darcy in particular. She could not be outright rude to the man, as that would show manners as bad as his, but she needed desperately to insure they never had a substantive conversation.

Even when doing her best to avoid the gentleman, she was gradually concluding that it might not be enough. Only the week before, a farmer had been hanged just ten miles from Meryton. He was convicted of killing a merchant in a brawl over damage supposedly done to his daughter. The score in that matter now stood at one disgraced daughter left alone in the world, and two dead men, with neither being likely to have deserved their coffins, but received them, nonetheless.

The reminder did nothing to improve her confidence in the situation.


	4. The Study

"Mr. Darcy, sir."

Thomas Bennet looked up curiously at the young man looking pensive in the doorway of his study. Bennet glanced at the clock and saw that it was the beginning of visiting hours… precisely to the minute. With five daughters to marry off, he could not afford to offend any suitors, but his extensive reports of this man from his wife and daughters after the assembly, in no way had prepared him for the likelihood of the gentleman extending a visit at this time, or any time for that matter. Mr. Darcy had danced with nobody outside of his own party, and he had spent most of the evening just stalking the edges of the assembly. Of course, Mr. Bennet thought that behavior perfectly rational, and nearly as good as the much more palatable option of not attending the assembly in the first place.

Mr. Bingley might be expected, but not Mr. Darcy. Reports of the former looked a bit promising for Jane, or at least as promising as a single assembly could. Of course, he knew young men's fancy was subject to whims and change, so would not read too much into it, regardless of his wife's opinion on the subject. Giving his eldest daughter even odds of finding happiness at this point would be optimistic.

Now, Mr. Darcy, well, if the gentleman was here this early in the day, it presaged a very interesting conversation indeed. The young man was obviously first circles, and his presence at Longbourn was completely unexpected. Of course, most of Mr. Bennet's knowledge of both gentlemen came from his overly excitable matchmaking wife, who found Mr. Darcy most disagreeable. Of course, the father thought, anyone that failed to fall at one of his daughters' feet would be considered disagreeable by his wife. And yet, here he was… Mr. Darcy.

"Mr. Darcy, come in, Sir. Come in. I must admit, your presence here is not what I expected this morning."

As Mr. Darcy came into the room, it was obvious he didn't feel his predicament was quite comfortable. The man was reputed to be the master of a very large estate in Derbyshire, yet he could not possibly be even thirty years of age. His responsibility must have weighed heavily on him. Mr. Bennet could have some sympathy for the young man. Bennet was a second son, not expecting to inherit, and he had been quite unprepared for it himself. How much worse for a much younger man with a much larger estate. Darcy took the proffered seat, apparently with some reluctance, after making the bow that courtesy demanded.

"Mr. Bennet, I am pleased to meet you."

_Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, _and he thought he might indeed find something to amuse here with this Mr. Darcy, but the man looked so serious, Bennet really did not have the heart to trifle with him just yet. Perhaps later, but not yet.

He replied, "Well, I am happy to have you here as well, Mr. Darcy. How may I be of assistance?"

Darcy looked a bit chagrined and thought he might as well just get down to business. Looking a bit unsure of himself, he finally replied.

"Mr. Bennet, I am here to apologize to your daughter. I said some ungentlemanly things last night that I have become aware she heard, and I wish to offer an apology and reparations."

Mr. Bennet nearly chortled in glee, but instead managed to keep a straight face, and replied, "I fear you may need to be more specific, Mr. Darcy. I have five daughters. Which one do I need to keep away from the knives?"

Darcy knew he was being teased, but thought he should take it like a man, so he replied simply, "It pains me to admit it, but I was not even introduced to the lady. I believe it was Miss Elizabeth."

This changed Bennet's face from amusement to perplexity, and he asked with some astonishment, "You insulted my daughter, whom you were not even introduced to?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you are still standing, and mostly intact?"

"As you see, Sir"

This was a new and unexpected development, so Mr. Bennet rubbed his chin in confusion, "Well, I guess that explains why she is not here at this moment Mr. Darcy. If you wanted to get the chore over with, I am afraid you are in for some disappointment."

Darcy tilted his head in apparent confusion, "What do you mean, Sir?"

Bennet looked carefully at the young man and wondered how much to confide in him. Old enough to have a son of Mr. Darcy's age, Bennet could see a young man struggling and could not fathom the reason why. He made up his mind to ask something only peripherally related.

"Before I elaborate, Mr. Darcy, might I ask what your father would think of this whole episode?"

"I am afraid, Sir, my father has passed these five years, and my mother nearly fifteen years ago. I believe that between them, they would probably draw straws to see who tried to talk sense into me, and who would give me a thrashing."

Bennet gave a good hearty laugh, which seemed to loosen up a small dam in Mr. Darcy, who eventually joined him, though he admitted to himself that it was not quite as much fun being the object of the amusement as it was to be the subject.

After the laughter descended into awkward silence, Darcy finally decided to be uncharacteristically honest.

"I have been master of my estate of around 1,100 acres since the age of two and twenty. I am both father and brother to my sister, presently of fifteen years, and not doing a particularly brilliant job of either. I have been the fox in the marriage hunt most of that time, so I am somewhat… er… uncomfortable in crowds. I offer this as explanation, not as excuse sir. Apologies and excuses discount each other."

Bennet looked carefully at the man and determined that he might actually grow to like him, in the unlikely event of their ever meeting again after he did his penance with Lizzy. Gentlemen of the first circles rarely spent time with simple country squires. Mr. Bennet had seen many such men of all stripes at Cambridge, and though he understood them well enough. The aging father decided there was little harm in enlightening the young man.

"Well said, Sir. I believe you are correct. I will offer the explanation you requested."

"I thank you, Sir."

Bennet looked at the clock and decided it was slightly early for 'refreshments', although a justification for them was sure to be found given the extraordinary circumstances. While tea would ordinarily be the drink of choice, he pulled a bottle of claret off a shelf and gestured to the young man. The offer was accepted, and both gentlemen settled in, comforted by the slight weight of the glass in their hands.

"Mr. Darcy, my daughter Elizabeth likes to walk. She likes to walk very much. She always stops by to tell me when she leaves, which is usually quite early. Elizabeth and Mary are early risers, while my other daughters are not. This morning, despite coming home from the assembly _suspiciously_ early, she still left much later than usual. In fact, if I did not know better, I would believe she chose the timing for her morning's ramble _specifically to avoid you_, since she left only a quarter hour before visiting hours."

Darcy nodded, and replied, "She showed abundant good sense last night, Sir. She laughed at me until she had her fill and then left. Avoiding me today would just be more of the same."

Bennet thought about that for a moment, but replied, "Well, perhaps… well… Mr. Darcy, how much would you like to know? If you just want to offer your apology and be done, you may take that desk over there and write one. I will see that it is delivered discreetly, and propriety will not be violated if I sit with her as she reads it and burn it after."

Darcy appreciated the gesture, but replied, "I prefer to do my groveling in person, Sir."

Bennet was amused by the turn of word and decided to give the youngster a bit more rope.

"Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth is an unusual young lady… not by any stretch your average young Miss. She has always loved the wilderness, and for most of her life, she walked for hours, nearly every day. In a house full of noise and bluster, it is a good strategy for remaining on this side of the sanity curtain."

"A sensible enough precaution, Mr. Bennet. Does she walk alone?"

Mr. Bennet decided the question showed a concern for safety, more than a concern for propriety or a condescension.

"She used to walk all over hill and dale quite alone for hours at a time, sometimes with a book, and sometimes just wandering. However, she had an accident about four months ago on holiday, and it left her with a bit of a different take on things."

"How so, Sir?"

"Well, it was a simple incident that might have proven fatal. I believe she got a hard lesson in her own vulnerability. She was walking alone near a beach and the path crumbled under her feet. She rolled through several feet of steep sand, and then some shale, which naturally decided to follow her down to the beach. She ended up with mostly cuts and bruises, but quite a lot of both, and lost consciousness for some hours. She recovered physically but is now much more cautious."

The young man shuddered, and replied somewhat shaken, "I hope the injuries were not terrible?"

The honest reaction was exactly what Mr. Bennet both desired and expected. It was enough to trust the young man just a bit more.

"Bad enough, Sir. I believe it gave her a glimpse of how hard life can be, and how little it takes to leave us precariously situated. Ever since then, she has been quite militant about protection. She always had good manners and perfect decorum, as does her elder sister. Since the accident though, she has lost some of the spiritedness she used to have. Now, she studies propriety with a vengeance, and she will not step even an inch outside its boundaries. For a time, I assumed she saw something _else_ on her holiday that distressed her, but now I do not know. I imagine it is possible, but either way, she is the most decorous woman in Meryton now."

Darcy took his own moment to rub his chin in perplexity, and asked, "So, she is _diligent_ about propriety, you say?"

"Yes, that is about it."

Darcy thought about it and replied at some length.

"My sister, who is fifteen now, may also have had something happen last summer. She was coincidentally on holiday at about that time. She has always been shy and timid but was just starting to pull at the traces and chafe at the bit. She always acted like she dreamed of something noteworthy, or perhaps even outrageous, but lacked courage, if you understand what I mean? She of course would never actually _do_ anything indecorous, but it seemed like she dreamed of more excitement in her life."

Bennet laughed, "I have five daughters, Sir. I understand perfectly."

"Indeed; well, I came to visit her in the summer, and she related some issues with her companion. None were particularly worrisome, but they added up to enough for me to replace the woman. Now, she seems to have taken a real shine to the rules of propriety herself. When we are at our estate in Derbyshire, she used to go out by herself quite regularly, but she now seems more timid than before. She has also told me she does not plan to come out until eighteen, where before she seemed to dream about the moment where she would finally take her place in society. The speedy transformation was unexpected."

"I see. Did you get a new companion for her?"

"Yes, I managed to get one within a few weeks."

"Is it possible that is the root cause for the change?"

"Yes, it very well might be. I really cannot tell. Her new companion, Mrs. Annesley, is a very sensible widow of around forty years. Perhaps she has wrought the change."

"Perhaps. At that age, young ladies go through quite a lot of changes irrespective of their individual character. It is a difficult time. Their bodies, their attitudes, their position in society… they are all evolving quickly. Young men do not have to go through quite so many upheavals, and they have trouble understanding the experience. Eventually young men grow into old men like me, and we still do not understand it, but at least are aware of our ignorance."

Both men retreated into their thoughts for a bit, and Mr. Bennet was first to break the silence.

"Mr. Darcy, Lizzy is my second eldest daughter. My third eldest, Mary, has been reading Fordyce for some time, and has also been obsessed with behavior. She always was prone to moralizing sermons and was quite unpopular with her sisters. However, now she and Elizabeth have made a bit of an alliance. They seem to be working together to knock my two least sensible daughters into some semblance of good behavior, with surprisingly positive results. They walk together anytime Lizzy wants a long walk. When they cannot walk together, Lizzy never goes far. I believe she is now reluctant to do so."

Darcy thought this was interesting although hardly relevant, and he raised an eyebrow.

Bennet added, "Mary is here, so Lizzy is almost certainly still within sight of the house. Neither you nor I have the slightest chance of finding her if she does not want to be found, but she _knows_ you are here, and she will _know_ when you leave. I suspect her 'walk' will by some great coincidence, end right after you leave."

Darcy laughed a bit and said, "I must admit, Mr. Bennet, that I find the idea of a young lady _avoiding_ me so assiduously to be somewhat enchanting and quite sensible. It does not happen as often as you might hope."

Bennet had a good laugh at that and paused briefly before delivering his reply.

"If you really want to proffer your apology, you may need to stay to dinner, or perhaps it might be better to return for supper on the morrow. Basic politeness demands my daughter attend dinner. I do not believe she will avoid you forever. She will evade you until the very last minute, but she will be back before the appointed time, as propriety demands. If you would care for a game of chess or backgammon, I will arrange for her to attend me here a few minutes when she eventually returns. She will of course demure to give you a private audience, but she _will_ allow you to have your say in my presence. Basic civility demands it, and my Lizzy is nothing if not polite."

Darcy thought about the offer, and replied, "Well then, Mr. Bennet, I shall be happy to give you your comeuppance on the chessboard and do my best to keep my wits together at a meal in the lively atmosphere you describe. Perhaps your offer of supper on the morrow would be ideal. It would be best if she had a day to prepare before you spring my presence at the table on her."

"You mean so you can gird your loins for battle? There will be six women, five of them unmarried in one room."

Darcy had the good humor to laugh along, feeling an unexpected warmth towards the older man.

Mr. Bennet had thoroughly enjoyed the younger gentleman; wishing to lend a hand on his noble quest for forgiveness, he called for a servant to insure his daughter attended him in his bookroom the moment she appeared, which he knew full well would be at the exact last instance when her propriety collided with her stubbornness. He then sat down, chose white and started the game.

After perhaps a dozen moves, Mr. Bennet made another suggestion.

"Mr. Darcy, my Lizzy plays chess too, quite well I might add. When you apologize, pay attention to _how_ she responds. It may take you a while to fathom it, but I hope, it will make sense eventually."

Darcy looked carefully at the father and avoided comment by making another move.


	5. The Stump

Elizabeth Bennet _detested_ Mr. Darcy's horse. Irrational as the feeling was, it was by far the most caritative thought she could manage to push through her fatigued brain, as she sat in a small hidden stump in her father's grove where she could see the drive the beast had walked down an hour past. The previous evening's exertions in her bed had not produced the much‑desired rest, nor had it produced the even more‑desired peacefulness. At that moment, all she could think of was that the obviously expensive horse had managed to haul the tall and unpleasant gentleman to Longbourn; and that same horse should by all rights be able to take him back to Netherfield when the man found that she was not available for his convenience.

Elizabeth spent a good hour and a half vacillating between feelings of encouragement and impatience for the minute hand on her pendant watch. At some moments, it seemed like the hand was barely creeping along, or not moving at all, as she waited for the relief that she anticipated upon spying the dreaded horse walking back down the drive to Netherfield. She of course was not silly enough to believe that would be the end of her worries, but it would shift them back by a day, and she reflected she could really use the time to work out exactly what she was to do regarding Mr. Darcy. On the other hand, it occasionally seemed like the minute hand would spin off its axis like a child's top, moving her one minute closer to the inevitable confrontation, and her unavoidable need to take concrete steps to sever any connection.

It had been several difficult months since the summer, and the fact that she could not talk to a single person in the world about her worries made it worse. Her experience with the young lady, whose name Elizabeth still _tried_ to refuse to even think, let alone say, had left her nervous, anxious and afraid. The burning intense protective instinct that drove her to do the unthinkable in defense of a naïve but innocent girl, had burned itself out by the time she woke up from her injuries in her room in Ramsgate, leaving nothing but trepidation and fear. The plan she came up with on the spur of the moment to disguise the injuries delivered by the mystery man had nearly been too effective. The surgeon who attended her pointed out that none of her injuries were likely to be life‑threatening, but most any of them _could have been, _had her fall proceeded in a slightly different manner_. _

When Elizabeth went off the path, she imagined a small number of cuts and bruises, just enough to disguise the ones she already had. However, instead of simply rolling through some relatively fixed rocks, gathering bumps and scrapes along the way, her traversal of the shales had knocked loose enough rocks to follow her down, and inflict their own damage. One large rock only missed her head by a foot at the bottom of the beach. It was nearly a week before her Aunt Gardiner would allow Elizabeth out of the room, and nearly three weeks before she managed to escape the footman that accompanied her everywhere long enough to find her stash of blunt. It was fortunate that the money was all in the form of banknotes, because after that, Elizabeth took to obsessively carrying the notes with her everywhere, as if the long arm of the law would find her and send her fleeing at any moment.

The visible cuts, scrapes, bumps and bruises had mostly healed within a fortnight. By some curious twist of fate, neither of the injuries the horrid man inflicted left any lasting marks, but one of her self‑inflicted gashes on the other leg was deep enough and ragged enough that it left a scar that would probably be there the rest of her life to remind her of her impulsiveness.

The first fortnight after the 'accident', she managed to use her pain and suffering from the injuries to disguise the fact that she seldom slept more than a few hours at a time, and to give a convincing explanation if she woke up with nightmares in the middle of the night.

After a fortnight, injuries or not, she forced herself to get out and about. Most of the cuts and bruises on her face were healed by then, so she did not attract any unwanted attention. Her aunt and uncle felt responsible for her accident, and it took at least the next fortnight to convince them that they bore no responsibility, since she would almost certainly have made the same fall at the same time even if the footman was following her. However, their forbearance did _not_ extend to letting her wander alone anymore, even if she wished to resurrect the practice.

That first fortnight, as she lay in her bed in Ramsgate, Elizabeth had to come to terms with the fact that she had _killed a man_. For certain, the act was done in self‑defense, or better yet, defense of an innocent, but none of that made the man any less dead, or her actions any less than murder, or manslaughter at the very least. She had to reflect on the fact that there was not the slightest chance of redemption for the man… ever. Every chance he had ever had, slim as they might have been, to become a better person, had been taken away by her actions. No matter how much he deserved his fate, no matter how much an innocent needed protection and no matter how few her choices had been at that fateful moment, the fact remained that a man was dead by her hand, and he would be dead forever.

The newspapers and household gossip in Ramsgate were not all that helpful in abating her fear. It was one thing to discuss the_ bloody code_ with her father in an _abstract_ way, watching the newspapers for gossip, and reading about it in novels. _It was quite another thing to consider that she might be subject to the same penalty._ In some cases, the harshness of the code was gradually being slightly reduced by replacing _death_ with _transportation_, but that was hardly better. For a woman, being moved over 10,000 miles by ship, to a barely tamed land, stuck in a population that had eight males for every ten convicts, with some significant percentage of them being _actual violent criminals_ instead of the much more common _unlucky poor_, seemed to be nothing but a delayed death penalty. It would be death by a thousand cuts, and Elizabeth wanted no part of it.

She tried and tried and tried to tell herself that she had been unobserved, that there was very little chance of her being caught and convicted, that no rational magistrate would fault her, that in real terms she was in no more danger than she had ever been, that any evil likely to befall her would have happened already. After all, life had never been risk-free. The young Miss she rescued had shown herself to be in serious danger, even without being a target for the hangman! However, such assurances were of very little value when Elizabeth woke in the middle of the night, sweat poring off her body, her nightclothes in a tangle, breathing like a lathered racehorse.

The court of assize came into session only twenty miles from Ramsgate while she was recovering, and it was a frightening thing. According to both rumors and newspapers, Lord Hargrave was what was known as a _hanging judge_, meaning he strongly believed in the efficacy of the rope in somehow reducing crime, and rare was anyone brought before him on any kind of severe charge that did not end up in a box. It seemed to Elizabeth that every day, there were a dozen bound for the gallows, the hulks or the transport ships, and she could not shake the idea of _her being one of them _out of her mind. No matter how unlikely it was for her to be caught, brought before the judge and convicted, _she just could not pull it from her head. _

She hoped with all her might that the young heiress was not similarly suffering, but essentially the girl had done nothing more criminal than failing to report a crime. She was also obviously of the higher stations that were almost never brought to account for anything. Therefore, Elizabeth believed the young lady was probably perfectly safe and hopefully recovering well. Of course, the girl's personal guilt might weigh her down, but Elizabeth thought the years from fifteen to twenty would probably cure her of that. The young lady did not _know_ the man was dead, and she might well be able to forget the entire incident over time.

Gradually, time performed its healing as it was wont to do. Humans mostly do not have the fortitude to continually exist in such a distressed state. Upon returning to Hertfordshire, Elizabeth gradually recovered to some extent. She decided that she needed to be _absolutely right and proper_ in all future dealings with anyone. She was not quite irrational enough to assume that improper behavior among herself or her younger sisters (the elder was of course beyond reproach), would lead her directly to a noose, but it _could _easily lead one of her sisters to replace Georgiana Darcy (the name sometimes slipped out) in the hedgerow with that cretin. With that awful thought, she would once again be back to her obsession, back to her nightmares, back to waking up sweating in the middle of the night. Her youngest sister, Lydia, was the most determined flirt in the area, and it took no imagination whatsoever for Elizabeth to picture the young heiress she rescued, laying on the ground under that animal, with Lydia's face.

Even worse, Elizabeth feared one thing more than any other. _She feared loss of anonymity_. She was terrified at the thought of becoming an object of scrutiny. It was obvious, even before her trip to Ramsgate that both of her younger sisters were courting scandal like a schoolboy daring his friend to greater and greater exploits of daring do. As things were, she could be just another anonymous moderately impoverished gentlewoman, but should one of her sisters cause a _real scandal_, not something out of the realm of possibility, or even outside the realm of likelihood, attention would be focused on the family like a magnifying glass, and who could guess the outcome. Questions might be asked that could not be answered. Elizabeth's only real defense was obscurity, and that absolutely required that at least _she_ behave properly at all times.

Once Elizabeth looked at the world with more than a touch of fear, she found an unlikely ally in her sister Mary. Her next youngest sister had always been afraid of the consequences of improper behavior. Mary's fear was a touch on the irrational side, driven more by too much reading of the ridiculous Mr. Fordyce, and not enough by a reasonable study of the world, but at least Mary and Elizabeth now had aligned goals. Elizabeth, no longer feeling safe by herself, took to asking Mary to accompany her on longer rambles. Mary, feeling for the first time that someone in the family actually liked, respected and valued her and desired her company, responded well. Their conversations started out as stilted as they were at Longbourn, but gradually, over months, they came to a better understanding. In the end, the two seemed to have achieved a certain balance on the character scale, with each sister shoring up some of the weaknesses of the other. Elizabeth added a tiny bit of levity and humility to Mary's desires for proper behavior. Mary added a bit of backbone to the desire to curb the younger girls, and surprisingly, a bit of steadiness to counter Elizabeth's impulsiveness.

The combined campaign of both middle daughters to correct the younger ones had just started to bear some fruit, when it received an unexpected setback by the news that a militia company was to winter in Meryton. Both girls immediately reverted to their worst behavior, and Mary and Elizabeth were forced to redouble their efforts, attempting to instill some caution in Catherine and Lydia. Neither of the elder sisters expected it to be a short or easy campaign, but they were both were resolute in their desire to protect the younger ones from themselves.

The effort was just perhaps starting to look like it might eventually bear fruit, and Elizabeth had _just started_ to feel like perhaps safety was within reach. They learned that the neighboring estate of Netherfield was to be let, and the party which was to consist of dozens, or perhaps hundreds of ladies and gentlemen, was to attend the monthly assembly in Meryton.

Elizabeth was quite happy with the assembly. She missed the introduction of the Netherfield party, oddly enough because she was in the withdrawing room to fix a problem with chafing in her stays. It turned out that if you stuffed £137 into your underclothing every day, you would occasionally get it wrong. It was not the sort of thing you wanted to bandy about, so she had to be careful in making her adjustments, and missed the most embarrassing introduction imaginable, with her mother mortifying everyone within several yards in general, and the Netherfield gentlemen and the rest of her daughters, in particular.

Elizabeth made it back just in time to see Jane dancing two dances with Mr. Bingley, and she was overjoyed with the promise of the possibility of an attachment. For the first time since that morning in Ramsgate, she was not only _not desperately unhappy_, but she was _genuinely happy_. Of course, she knew it was early days, and it could play out in any number of ways, but it was as promising a beginning as she could imagine for a sister that deserved every happiness.

One of the Netherfield gentlemen, neither of which she been introduced to, even had the most amusing argument she had ever heard with the other. One man was insisting on his friend dancing, while the other insisted that anyone short of Helen of Troy would not do for his exalted consequence. For the very first time since Ramsgate, Elizabeth found herself not only at her ease, but _completely content with the present moment_. All thoughts of transport ships, hangman's nooses, young heiresses, gallows and all other worries were cast aside just so she could enjoy the ridiculousness of the situation, and the haughtiness of the tall, admittedly _very_ handsome, but insufferably prideful gentleman. She had not the slightest desire to engage his attention. She did not even want to dance with him, or anyone else for that matter, or in any other way interact with him; but oh, was his pride hilarious.

All interactions in an assembly are implicitly part of the marriage dance, and Elizabeth was absolutely certain she did not care to engage in anything even peripherally associated with that pastime. She was not even certain she wanted to marry at all, and certainly not any time soon, so the ability to overhear such an entertaining conversation was perversely freeing. For certain, the man was actually _slighting her appearance_, which would thoroughly vex most ladies, but it was so obvious that the gentleman would not dance with anyone for any reason, that she could be almost certain it had nothing whatsoever to do with her. Elizabeth could not help herself. The longer the conversation between the two men went on, the funnier she found it. She went from slightly smiling amusement to outright laughter in the space of a less than a minute. It took some effort to keep her laughter down to just shaking her body and not making a sound.

It was just at what should have been the heights of her enjoyment, when the haughty man was at his most ridiculous, when she heard the words that tumbled her right back to the endless and darkest pits of despair as rapidly as that first muffled scream had in Ramsgate:

_ "Blast It, __Darcy__, this is my first night here and I am the only amiable  
person in my entire party. You are supposed to be a gentleman…"_

That was it. She heard nothing else that was said, because her mind was right back to the exact feeling she had as she rolled the lifeless corpse of the mysterious 'GW' off the seawall in Ramsgate. _Darcy! Darcy! Darcy!_ _Darcy!_ _Darcy!_ _Darcy!_ _Darcy!_ _Darcy!_ Yes, there might be dozens or hundreds of people named Darcy in England, and what were the odds that _this was the lackadaisical guardian_, but then again… what were the odds that she would encounter Georgiana Darcy in a situation so dire that required violent intervention in the first place.

Whether he was the absent guardian or not, the name was not _that_ common, so this gentleman could very well have _some_ connection with the young victim, but it was hardly something she could ask about. Elizabeth felt the same need to choose between _fight_ or _flight_ she had felt in Ramsgate. Once more, she felt exactly the same as the moment GW's fist connected with the side of her face. Once again, her heartbeat thundered until she thought her heart might burst from her chest at any moment. She started sweating, and her hands were both shaking uncontrollably and balling into fists. She could feel herself searching frantically for a weapon she could use to protect herself and her charge.

It was only a few moments before she recognized that _fight or flight_ offered _two__ choices_, and this time… this time… this time… well, this time, she would opt for _flight_. Elizabeth had learned the trick of so‑called disappearing as a child. It mostly amounted to watching carefully and leaving in the exact moment when someone was not paying attention. Thus, it was a mere second later that Mr. Bingley looked up to find her gone. After overhearing the later conversation from the floor of the cloakroom, she had to admit that both gentlemen improved with more knowledge, but that truly made things worse, not better. She had to avoid Mr. Darcy at all costs, and it seemed like he might not make that easy.

Now, here she was once again, feeling the same two choices. _Why did life only give her those two choices? _Why not _fight or flight or just ignore the infernal man?_ Elizabeth had suspected Mr. Darcy would come that day to offer some apologies. He seemed unlikely to be a man who apologized sincerely or often, but much to his credit, Mr. Darcy acted like both his reputation and that of Mr. Bingley were of some importance. Yes, after a set‑down like that, Mr. Darcy would either come to apologize sometime within the next week or he would decamp. One alternative was good for Elizabeth. The other was much less desirable, and she now saw that the undesirable option was to prevail. If the man was the unmannered cretin he first appeared to be, she could readily have asked her father to keep him away from her. But if he came and offered a proper heartfelt apology, as now seemed likely, rejecting him would make her seem churlish, would make her mother start talking endlessly and nearly continuously about him, and would raise uncomfortable questions about _why_ she could not even tolerate a man of such consequence.

Now, Elizabeth was sitting in her hidden stump in the grove, holding one of her father's old walking sticks in her balled fists as if she was going to hit something again, alternately staring at the driveway and her pendant watch, burning up with _shame_, _anger_, _trepidation_ and mostly _fear_. She resented Mr. Darcy's horse. She detested the minute hand on her own watch. She despised the rules of the house that demanded she return in time for dinner, or face questions about _why _she was absent, that she _did not_ want asked. She loathed the vagaries of chance, fortune, connections and society, that once again left her with two entirely unpalatable choices.

Eventually, when Longbourn's front drive remained stubbornly horse‑free while the beast enjoyed the comforts of the stable, and the time came when she was required to return to the house, she made a resolution. Apparently, it was to be fight or flight, but she would choose her path carefully.

The first phase, _fight_, would be to engage in the best effort she could make to get Mr. Darcy to _leave her alone._ If she could get him to completely ignore her, without breaking out of her carefully cultivated façade of propriety and amiability, then all would be well. _How hard could it be to get a very rich man of the first circles to ignore a country nobody, whose beauty he had already easily withstood_. All she had to do was add just the right amount of unpleasantness to her discourse, and the problem should be solved.

If a little bit of unpleasantness was insufficient, she could abandon decorum if necessary until she achieved her aim. Elizabeth knew in her heart of hearts that she was capable of extraordinary unpleasantness if it would save her from the rope or the ship. She must be sure to maintain her distance from the man. After all, so long as she never met Georgiana Darcy, and never had any deep discussions about Ramsgate or any other subject with Mr. Darcy, nothing would rise to the surface. He would return to his own estate or his belles in town, or whatever it was a man like him did, and she would return to her anonymity.

Perhaps, one day in the far future, she might even stop being afraid.


	6. The Chessboard

"You asked to see me, Papa?"

Mr. Bennet looked carefully at his daughter and found the examination somewhat perplexing. He thought he knew his offspring well, or at least he had before her holiday the previous summer, but he was having a difficult tome establishing her current feelings. Elizabeth was standing just inside the door, looking for all the world like a calm and collected young lady should, but her father knew her better than that. She was tense, very tense, and far more distressed than this situation seemed to call for.

As a father, Mr. Bennet knew that appearance was important to women. Right or wrong, they were judged on it by the world, and in this house, Mrs. Bennet seemed bent on commenting about it constantly. Elizabeth's mother, who was in truth just a frightened woman worried about losing her place in the world when her husband died, had made it her life's work to get all her daughters well settled. There was little danger of Mrs. Bennet _truly starving in the hedgerows_ if Mr. Bennet died unexpectedly, as between her portion and some money that had been saved, the mother had enough to live comfortably with any unmarried daughters, but she did not have enough money to _live well_. She feared loss of consequence, which to the lady would be nearly as bad as actually starving.

The tools at Mrs. Bennet's disposal in such a society as hers should have been extensive, or at least adequate, but _she was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper._ Mrs. Bennet spent all her time preoccupied with beauty, whilst _not_ worrying about the things that might truly make a real difference in marriageability, such as education, deportment and dowries. As such, Mrs. Bennet had been criticizing all her daughters except the eldest and youngest over their appearance for as long as Mr. Bennet could remember. All his attempts to curb the practice had been ineffective at best, and at worst just moved the comments out of his earshot and made them even more vicious.

Keeping this in mind, Mr. Bennet knew Elizabeth was well familiar with criticism, and generally not bothered by it. According to his further discussions with Mr. Darcy over chess, she had been nothing but amused by the gentleman's slight in the beginning. That was in exact agreement with what the father expected, and he presumed the apology would either give his daughter yet more amusement or give her a chance for retaliation. However, here she was, with as calm and collected an appearance as you please, but internally tense enough to break a tooth or maybe say something impertinent, or dare he think it, even rude. The set of her jaw, the look in her eyes and her general posture would tell someone that knew her well that she was tense as a bowstring.

Mr. Bennet of course would be glad to have her take Mr. Darcy down a peg or two just for his own amusement, but more importantly, he was hoping to see a trace of the impertinent fireball Lizzy he remembered, so he simply decided to enjoy the show and see what happened. Elizabeth, when fully employing her considerable wit, was like a force of nature. Mr. Darcy was likely to get more of a lesson in humility than he bargained for, but he seemed resilient enough, and today was probably as good a day as any to improve his character. Mr. Bennet was a big believer in the power of a good setdown, well placed and specific, from just the right person, just as Lizzy may be.

Standing up along with his guest, he made the introductions.

"Elizabeth, may I present Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Mr. Darcy, my second‑eldest daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Elizabeth curtsied quite properly, and replied, "Mr. Darcy."

Darcy made a deep bow, noticeably longer and more respectful than propriety strictly called for, and said, "Miss Elizabeth, it is a privilege to meet you."

At that point, conversation stopped for a full count of five. Elizabeth, stood in the same position she had started out in, mostly looking an imaginary spot halfway between the two gentlemen in the room.

Darcy, somewhat expecting some of the extra words that went along with an introduction, did not want to talk over the lady, so he gave her a few seconds to say something if she liked. She apparently had nothing to say, so he decided he should get on with his task.

"Miss Elizabeth, I have come to offer you an overdue apology. Last night, I did not act the gentleman. In fact, I acted like an absolute cretin. I slighted your appearance, in a way that was in violation of all rules of politeness and civil discourse, as well as being factually incorrect. Furthermore, I added the ridiculous assertion that I might give you consequence in a neighborhood where you have plenty already, and I have none. I spoke disparagingly about you without even gaining an introduction or giving you the opportunity to defend yourself. I offer no excuses, just my sincerest and humblest apologies."

George Darcy had taught his son that an apology must be short, to the point, specific and sincere. Sincerity was the most essential ingredient, as it was not even an apology without that. Right in that moment, Fitzwilliam Darcy, perhaps for the first time, truly understood what his father had tried to teach him. In fact, he felt the worst he ever had, and he_ very much_ wanted to make this right. Elizabeth Bennet was _not_ the first young lady he had ever gotten on the bad side of, but she _was_ the first one he could remember, who he _truly_ wanted to make amends to. It was important to him, simple as that.

His father had also told him to give the object of his apology leave to have their say, and his acceptance of their reaction was likely to have as much or more effect as the original apology. Make the best apology in the world, and then disregard the reply, or worse yet, argue with what the offended says, and you may as well not even speak in the first place. He expected his comeuppance, and was well prepared to accept it, if that would make things right.

True to the sincere nature of the apology, he gave a deep and slow bow. As his eyes went to the floor, he listened to the first bits of whatever the lady had to say, expecting to discuss the matter in some detail, and accept whatever censure she thought to be his due. Her father asserted the lady was quite capable of it. He had thought of so many things he might say but needed to see her reaction to know how to proceed.

Elizabeth, watched for the man to start his bow, and as soon as his eyes left her, she replied.

"You are forgiven, Mr. Darcy. Good day."

By the time Darcy came back from his deep bow, he was looking at the empty space in front of the door where Miss Elizabeth had been standing. A quick glance farther to the left showed the door just closing.

Somewhat shocked at the dismissal, he just started at the empty spot, then glanced over at her father for some clue as to what he should do.

Mr. Bennet was looking somewhat… well, he actually looked amused when you got right down to it, so Darcy was in a bit of a muddle about what should come next.

Taking pity on the young man, Mr. Bennet gestured to the chair, reached for the claret still sitting on the desk from earlier in their meeting, then changed his mind and pulled out a bottle of brandy.

Drawing two glasses, he handed one to the younger man, and showing that he was not quite as fastidious a practitioner of propriety as his daughter, quickly downed his entire glass. Somewhat at a loss, Darcy followed his example, and looked on in bewilderment.

After a few moments, Darcy asked, "Was that check, or checkmate?"

Mr. Bennet decided he liked this young man and chortled a bit, then answered, "I did mention it might take some time to work out what she said."

"Yes, I can see that, but it is hard to truly understand a move that consisted of only a handful of words. Whatever the meaning, it was too subtle for me."

Bennet looked carefully at the young man for a bit, then replied, "Well, young man. Are you saying you do not understand what just occurred?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, Mr. Darcy, let us examine the chessboard. May I presume you had the rules of propriety drilled into your head relentlessly from an early age?"

"Yes, Sir."

"So, think of this as a game, propriety as the rules, and Elizabeth as a master."

The elder just sat patiently as the younger thought about it for a while, and he could see the exact moment when it all made sense.

Darcy finally said, "Your daughter is exceedingly polite, correct?"

"Yes. Unfailingly."

Darcy just huffed a breath and said, "Well, Sir. She answered me _politely_, did she not? From the first to the last, she gave me everything propriety required, in exacting detail, but _not a single thing more_. Not a single glance, not a single extra word, not a single quarter inch in her curtsy, not a single second longer in my company than required."

Bennet laughed a bit, as that was entirely as he saw that situation, and asked, "So young man, what do you conclude about the state of play?"

"It is obvious, Sir. _She does not like me. _If I had to hazard a guess, I would say she does not know me, does not wish to know me, and would be much obliged were I to disappear entirely. She could not have been any clearer without resorting to ill manners."

The father chuckled good naturedly, and replied, "Exactly… precisely."

Both men sat in thought for a moment, and Bennet poured another half-shot of brandy, for sipping this time. They used a few minutes in this manner, and Darcy finally asked, "What do you recommend, Sir? You are her father. I assume you know her best. I will abide by your suggestion."

Bennet looked at the man for a moment, and suggested, "The simplest thing for you, would be to knock over your king and withdraw from the field, Sir. You have done your duty. Honor is satisfied, as apparently is your victim. You owe nothing more."

Darcy thought a few minutes, and asked, "What if I desire a rematch?"

Bennet thought about that for a few minutes, and finally replied, "What is the ultimate goal of the game, Sir?"

Darcy quickly replied, "I will make no promises at this point beyond the basics. I will act honorably, and with perfect decorum, but cannot otherwise say how a potential game might play out. Her friendship seems worth the winning, but I am already down a queen and two bishops."

Bennet laughed a bit, then thought about it a moment more, and finally said, "Well, Son. Elizabeth is stubborn and tenacious, and unless I completely misread the signs, she wants _nothing_ to do with you. That is unlikely to change any time soon, if ever. For the most part, I have found she is overly reliant on first impressions. Most of the time, I fear that _her_ _good opinion once lost, is lost forever_. She is skilled at ridding herself of pests. Are you certain this is a challenge you wish to undertake? There is no shame in withdrawing with a stalemate."

Darcy nodded a few times, and said, "I should like to at least move a pawn out of the front rank, Sir."

Bennet chuckled a bit, wondered how much hurt he was setting himself up for from his second eldest, and replied with a chuckle.

"Well then Sir, I suggest you come for supper tomorrow. Bring your friend, Mr. Bingley, and if you can manage it, leave his sisters. Instruct him to escort my eldest into supper, which should not be all that difficult. You escort Elizabeth and try to talk with her. She is incredibly bright, and I dare say well educated, so do not shy from any topic. The farther outside of the normal bounds of lady's discourse, the better. Engaging her mind is your only hope. She is clearly unimpressed with your demeanor or your fortune."

Both men nodded a bit, and Mr. Darcy left the study to be introduced to the rest of the family, before returning to Netherfield. Bennet had considered having him stay to dinner that very day instead of supper on the morrow, but he thought it might be useful to talk to his daughter before he threw her to the wolves.

Just before they left the study, he gave one final warning.

"Be careful, Mr. Darcy. Even her pawns have teeth. She can be tough as leather, but there is also vulnerability to her. I will not insist you accede to her wish to have nothing to do with you, but I will ask you to be careful, for your own sake as well as hers."

Darcy felt that it might be the most important conversation of his life, although quite why he felt that way after just seven words was quite beyond him. This was important, as if his destiny was not entirely his own anymore.


	7. The Table

On Elizabeth Bennet's tenth birthday, her father gave her a special treat she had been begging for months to obtain. He made her earn the privilege through what seemed quite an onerous set of reading assignments, although she did not feel particularly put out by the exercise. For her special treat, she traveled with her beloved Papa alone to visit a blacksmith nearly ten miles from Meryton. Her home village boasted only a very old farrier, and while interesting enough, Elizabeth truly wanted to see how ornamental ironwork was made. The banister on the stairs in her house was an especial favorite, and her father had arranged with the blacksmith to see how it was done.

"Papa, tell me about the forge, again."

"Well, Lizzy, I assume it will be quite similar to Mr. Johnson's. It will have coal and fire, and perhaps a boy or young man to work the bellows, but since I am not an expert, I imagine you will have to wait to find out."

"And the anvil? Do all blacksmiths have anvils?"

"Yes, I believe that is one of the most basic tools, along with a hammer and tongs."

The ten miles of travel over only moderately acceptable roads took just over two hours, with the young girl chattering questions nearly continuously.

Arriving in the village of Harpenden, the young lady jumped with excitement as her father took her to the shop and introduced her to the blacksmith, Mr. O'Malley, a genuine red‑headed Irishman. The shop was everything magical and wonderful, and she immediately envied the man's son, a young boy about her age, who was pumping the bellows of the forge when they appeared. The blacksmith was an old friend of a friend of a friend and he found it no trouble at all to explain what he was doing to the curious young girl. He would explain all the same things to his son without her presence anyway, so having an audience suited him just fine.

Elizabeth found everything about the day to be exciting. The heat of the forge, the wonder of watching cold iron turn red hot, the clashing ringing sound as the blacksmith beat a bit of bar stock into any shape he desired against his anvil, all carried her to absolute dizzying heights of pleasure. The hiss of the hot iron in the oil or water bucket just about had her swoon, even though her father insisted that ladies were at least as tough as any man and, when swooning did occur, it was usually for effect.

Perhaps her favorite part of the entire day was the blacksmith's vise. This was some type of screw contraption, that could, according to the mountain of a man, squeeze anything into practically nothing. He showed her how he could take a red-hot length of bar stock, bend it around a pin, then use the vise to clamp the ends together until they completely touched, flat as can be. Four of those, with a few nail holes, made a hinge, and the squeezing was fascinating. He also showed her how he could use it to simply hold one end of a piece of stock still while he twisted the rest into a curly shape to make her beloved banister, and he even made a small twisted bit of bar stock a foot long for her to keep as her very own. Between his tongs and his vice, Mr. O'Malley claimed he could hold the world.

Now, sitting in the parlor at Longbourn, she was reminded once again of the vise, or perhaps the tongs. For some reason, Mr. Bennet had invited Mr. Darcy to supper, and Elizabeth could hear him arriving in the outer hall with Mr. Bingley. At least Jane would be happy, however Elizabeth was anything but. She felt the pressure as if her head were being squeezed relentlessly by both vise and tongs from two sides simultaneously.

Elizabeth had fought and fought and fought and fought to regain her equilibrium after Ramsgate. No amount of self‑justification had ever managed to get her to forget that _she had __killed a man_, and no amount of rationalization could get her to give up her fear of retribution. No amount of congratulations on her lucky escape kept her from seeing a gallows and rope in the middle of the night when things were dark and still. No amount of thought, walking, exercise, work, books, stillroom or any of the other tools available to a young lady of moderate means, could keep her mind from remembering that her best friend, Charlotte Lucas' father was a magistrate. She had finally, over several months, managed to quit worrying about it every minute of every day, only to once again return to the lion's den with the appearance of Mr. Darcy.

Now, the gentleman was in the process of removing his hat and gloves, so he might enjoy supper with the Bennets, and Elizabeth had _no idea _what to do. She had, upon waking up from her numerous injuries in Ramsgate, decided the course of prudence for her was to become a perfectly behaved woman, and she cleaved to the idea with implacable stubbornness.

She had no idea whether her propensity to walk alone should be considered a blessing or a curse. For her on that summer day, it was a curse, but for the hapless young lady who had decided to step even farther from the rules of society, Elizabeth's presence had most definitely been a lifesaving blessing. Even though she had committed what the church would consider a grave and mortal sin, she also had some pride that she managed to do what needed to be done when it needed to be done. Soldiers did the same thing on the battlefield to men who had committed no offense worse than wearing the wrong uniform and fighting for the wrong king, so why could she not have the same clemency? But that was not how the world worked. In the true world, murderesses were hanged or transported.

Elizabeth had _finally_ gotten so she could sleep somewhat easy at night, when Netherfield had been let. She had not had a nightmare in weeks, had not woken up before the sun in several days, and thought she might be able to get on with her life, just like she had advised the young victim to do.

Now, there_ was Mr. Darcy_. His presence brought all the old fears back, doubled or trebled, at the precise time when she had finally started to relax.

In the eyes of society, it made little difference whether the last piece of Miss Darcy's defenses had been breached or not. If the truth were known, she would be ruined already. Similarly, whether Mr. Darcy was in fact the lady's brother or not, had little effect on Elizabeth's feeling of safety. If she were in Mr. Darcy's company for any length of time, any number of things could come out. The young victim might be a cousin or some other relation, but whether cousin, sister or acquaintance, unless the young heiress was completely unknown and unrelated, some conversation might eventually lead to the gentleman learning things he should not know. Conversation with Mr. Darcy was dangerous, and Elizabeth could not imagine speaking with the admittedly very handsome man without seeing the rope hanging just behind him.

To add some aggravation, Elizabeth was in fact quite impressed with the man's apology. She had never heard such a sincere one in her life, despite nearly daily exposure to behavior that truly demanded them. The apology had been short and sweet, and oh-so sincere. Had she not heard it herself, she would not have believed it. A _very _handsome man having a bad night had said some unfortunate things, had apologized profusely at the very first opportunity, and Elizabeth was left in a quandary. She truly wished the man was ill‑formed, impolite, impecunious, ill-mannered, or generally disagreeable. Much to her disappointment, she could see from her few minutes in his presence, that he was a man who she would ordinarily be thrilled to engage with… and yet, it was not to be. A man of his station would typically not condescend to even befriend a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, let alone do any more. She had no real worries about him asking any undue intimacies from her. However, to even entertain the possibility of meeting his sister, or just discussing her, even once, if in fact she existed, would send Elizabeth into another spiral of doubt and fear.

Elizabeth knew she was not being quite rational, but she just could not allow herself to become well known to the man. She could not put herself into a position where she might once again meet the young victim. The entire idea was just too raw, too hurtful, too painful. It also seemed likely that the young victim might be suffering similar anxieties, and that a load of guilt might be added to the mix. Encountering her savior again would almost certainly be as bad for Miss Darcy as it would be for Elizabeth.

Since she had hitched her wagon to the idea of being a polite and decorous young lady, she could not make herself be rude or unkind, but she had to somehow discourage him.

Her first sally had been to come as close to cutting him as she could without being truly offensive. She knew her father. She knew he would find it amusing, and she also suspected he would tell the young man of her disinterest, thus saving her from the bother of being rude to the man.

One would think that after killing a man with his own walking stick, being rude to another should not be all that much of a transgression, but for some reason, Elizabeth had an unnatural and unreasonable fear about going down that road. She believed that once she decided to take the route of ill manners, all would be lost. She had, with Mary's help, been having some effect on her youngest sisters' behavior, and even had some hope that Lydia and Kitty might show some sense for several minutes at the least every other day… eventually. All that would be lost, if she discarded whatever moral authority she possessed. She firmly believed that her sisters would follow her down into the darkness. Elizabeth or someone else in the family would disgrace them, and in the fallout, Elizabeth's deepest darkest secret might be discovered.

And so, with the vise closing in on her from one side and the tongs from another, she decided she needed to dissuade the gentleman with vigor. Unfortunately, all this thinking came to a head right about the time he held out her arm and offered to escort her into dinner.

* * *

"Dinner is served."

"Miss Elizabeth, may I escort you into dinner?"

"You may."

Fitzwilliam Darcy had never in his life had a woman take his arm with more apparent reluctance, nor with so few words. He had been standing near her in the drawing room for some half‑hour prior to dinner being called but found her in nearly constant discussion with her sisters. Whether it was ribbons with the two youngest, the dress the eldest was remaking, the decorations with Mrs. Bennet or any number of other topics, Miss Elizabeth seemed to be able to keep a constant stream of conversation going without more than a dozen words. A question here or there was entirely sufficient to send the two youngest into a long‑running dispute over colors that he could barely comprehend. They were apparently arguing with some vigor about the suitability of one shade of light pink versus another, when he could not tell the two apart, even when Miss Lydia showed him both side by side. Almost as few words could induce Mrs. Bennet into raptures about her eldest daughter. At the end of half an hour, Darcy spoken far more liberally than he typically did, but Miss Elizabeth had said just about as little as possible.

Based on his own observations and Mr. Bennet's conversation over chess, he suspected Miss Elizabeth could hold up her end of the conversation with nearly anybody, or both ends if required. However, if he had to guess, he would have to conclude that Miss Elizabeth _wanted to be dull._ Her sister Kitty even commented on it, and the lady made no defense of herself, not even the token defense one would expect of anybody.

With the polite exchange completed as usual, he escorted the lady in and sat her down in the chair next to him. She looked at the chair as if a dead rat or two was sitting on it before she sat down, but then as the soup course was served, she managed to get her sister on the other side of herself talking again.

"Miss Elizabeth, might I offer you some wine?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Miss Elizabeth, do you enjoy books."

"Yes"

"Might you share some of your favorites? It is one of my favorite pastimes, and I find great pleasure in the written word."

"Shakespeare"

"Oh, he is quite a favorite of mine. I have read everything many times and find it very compelling. Have you read all of his major works?"

"Yes"

"Do you prefer the comedies or the tragedies… or perhaps the sonnets?"

"Tragedies"

"I find myself quite enamored with Henry V. Do you have any particular favorite?"

"Macbeth"

"Anything in particular you enjoy about it?"

"No, I just like it."

"I understand you enjoy chess?"

"Yes"

"You play with your father?"

"Yes… and Sir William"

"Ah, I met Sir William. Quite a congenial man. I am told he is an avid player. Bingley mentioned that he heard about the man's prowess from another neighbor, a Mr. Goulding. I believe I attended Cambridge with Mr. Goulding's eldest son but have not managed to talk to him in Hertfordshire. I have been told he is in London at the moment, but I am looking forward to renewing the acquaintance. Is Sir William very skilled in the game?"

"Yes"

"I played your father two games yesterday, and we seem quite evenly matched. We are tied at one game apiece, and plan for a rematch next week. I would not ask you to boast, but do you win often against either gentleman?

"Sometimes"

"Your father asserted that it might be more often than 'sometimes'."

"He would know."

"I have been told by your father you are quite a walker, Miss Elizabeth. Are there any particular favorite places around Meryton you like to walk? I have been walking in the woods near Meryton, and ridden quite a number of the fields, but have not ventured much beyond the manor house by foot. Are there any places you would recommend for a good ramble?"

"Oakham Mount"

"Do you usually walk alone, or with someone else?"

"With Mary"

"Is it a pleasant walk? Is it very steep or muddy? How far is it?"

"One Mile"

"Can you see Longbourn from the top, or Netherfield?"

"Both"

"I understand you are quite a student of estate management. It is an unusual accomplishment in a lady, but one that I esteem greatly. What is your opinion about crop rotation?"

"I like the four-course system."

Some flavor of this conversation went on for the entire dinner hour. It mattered not if Darcy asked a long question or short, interesting topic or threadbare, complex or simple, injected his own opinion or asked for hers; he got answers of six words or less. Miss Elizabeth could easily pass for the shyest or dullest person in England (or both). Darcy thought that, when considering himself and his sister Georgiana, he could well be called an expert on the topic of shyness, but Miss Elizabeth was in a whole class by herself. Of course, the young lady managed to keep conversation flowing around the table with any number of thoughtful and well‑placed, if terse, comments to her sisters, but her reticent continued unabated through dinner. She was never impolite, and never gave him any less attention than good manners demanded, but he never got a single inch more.

During the separation of the sexes, Mr. Bennet commented on the surprisingly few words Darcy had managed to pry out of his normally voluble daughter but had no real advice to give the young man. His daughter was stubborn, and that was really all there was to it. He told the young man that he could not with any confidence predict if Elizabeth would relent in a day or a year.

Upon returning to the drawing room, Darcy found that Miss Elizabeth was a master of being _somewhere_ in the room where he was _not_. No matter how much he tried to politely nudge close enough to talk with her, or even to hear her conversation, he found her to be _elsewhere_.

The remainder of the evening passed in much the same way, and at the end of it, two young people went to their beds equally frustrated and dissatisfied with the level of discourse, but for opposite reasons.

* * *

_A/N: A tiny little shout-out here. You can make a good case that Harpenden is the actual, real life 19__th__ century village JA called Meryton. Google for __Harpenden Longbourn_


	8. The Lodge

_A/N: This is the chapter with the most changes suggested by my wife and excellent editor, Amalia. I had to take an axe to it and almost start over. You don't get to see version 1, but I hope you'll agree the new one comes up to the mark. Wade_

* * *

"Lizzy, do you think Jane is partial to Mr. Bingley?"

Elizabeth wondered exactly what her good friend Charlotte Lucas was inquiring about, but her answer was a bit more delayed and pensive than it would ordinarily be. They were in the drawing room at Lucas Lodge a fortnight after the assembly, for a dinner party, and had been in conference for a quarter hour.

"Of course, she is. He would have to be a simpleton indeed to be unaware she holds him in esteem."

"Yes Lizzy, it is obvious to those of us who know her well, but are you certain a man who was not acquainted with her before a few weeks ago will have both the insight and fortitude to detect it and act on it?"

"What can you mean, Charlotte?"

"Being a gentlewoman, Jane should never break any of the very well‑reasoned rules of good behavior, nor should she pretend to a feeling she does not possess, but she should endeavor to show at least as much affection as she feels, and perhaps more, until she has fixed his attention."

"But that is not sound, Charlotte. You know it is not sound. What does Jane know of his character? What does she know of how he treats others over time? How can she know anything certain after a fortnight, with but a few public meetings?"

Charlotte looked at her with the look of a woman who had now spent a decade in the pursuit of a good match, or an adequate match, or sometimes she might think, any match at all. It was true that Jane was beautiful and amiable, and she had at least half the accomplishments a woman of her class should have, but Jane was more than six years into the hunt herself with nothing to show for it except some bad poetry.

"Lizzy, let us make a stipulation, if you will."

"Of course, Charlotte."

"Let us just say that the 'task' of finding your life's partner is difficult. It is like a game we all play, though we know neither the rules, nor the strengths of our opponents."

The Elizabeth of five months previous might well have laughed and came up with an impertinent comment. She might even have tried to talk her practical and sensible friend against her opinion. Things as they were, the Elizabeth of that evening at Lucas Lodge did neither of those things. Instead, she gave her friend's thoughts the consideration they would have been due, but may not have received, in the past.

Charlotte was quite happy to see the pensive look on her friend. She did not want to vex either of the Bennet ladies. They were not in 'competition' per-se, but they were all reaching for the same elusive goal. All their lives they had been taught that advantageous marriage to a good partner was to be their primary goal in life, and most of their efforts were at least hypothetically bent towards that pursuit. Charlotte accepted this without question but wondered if her friend still did. They had been in complete agreement most of their adult lives, but Charlotte had noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm for the pursuit in her friend the last half‑year.

"I will concede your point, Charlotte. Is it really your opinion that all ladies, should grab the first gentleman we can _fix_?"

"Of course not, Lizzy, and you know perfectly well I do not think so. We must make allowances for differences in temperament and situation. I would be reasonably content with any number of men or situations that would drive you quite mad. I would not chastise you for demurring any attention from such a man, nor would I expect you to criticize me for accepting, or even subtly pursuing him."

Elizabeth looked at her friend for just a moment wondering if she knew Charlotte at all, or if, as appeared likely, she had been neglectful about understanding her closest friend. This whole discussion would have been very foreign to her a few months before, but after Ramsgate, she was questioning everything.

"You are right, Charlotte. We are, all of us, even the men, mired in a game we do not truly understand. The rules are there, implacable and stubborn, but _they are real, _and we must abide by them. Quite surprisingly, I find myself in agreement with you. Should such a hypothetical man come into your sights, I will happily assist you in any way I can."

With that, a bit of tension was released, and the two friends found themselves in more of an accord than they had previously.

Jane had always been an enigma, but she had also been Elizabeth's closest friend and confidant for as long as she could remember. Now though, Lizzy found that former closeness to be a cause for concern.

In the first place, Elizabeth found the very idea of _any_ close confidant of any kind worrisome. Suppose she still slept in the same chamber with Jane, as she frequently had until she left for Ramsgate, and woke up with nightmares, or worse yet, spoke aloud about one of her secrets. Jane Bennet was not a woman made for carrying a burden of guilt. She would never betray a trust, but Elizabeth was of the strongest opinion that it would crush her sister _believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as was there collected in one individual._ To intimate that _her sister_ might be acquainted with such evil, or to make Jane _responsible_ for protecting Elizabeth's secret would sap away Jane's vitality. Elizabeth thought it would kill her, all for no purpose, as Jane could do nothing to protect Elizabeth or even support her through her difficulties. Jane was just as Elizabeth had told Miss Darcy, the type of person for whom sharing the burden would double it rather than halving it.

Charlotte on the other hand had some resilience and good sense. If Elizabeth ever felt that she just _had to tell somebody_, or she had to trust somebody to help her get out of Meryton, or if she just had to get someone to cause a distraction, Charlotte would be equal to the task. Should Charlotte ever learn her deepest darkest secret, Elizabeth was confident she would take it to the grave, protect her friend, and probably pin a medal of valor on her chest on the way by. Elizabeth thought that perhaps Mary would do the same if pressed and she was most disconcerted to find that Jane was not among those she would turn to, unless she was desperate.

The long dead 'G.W.' had a lot to answer for.

Elizabeth looked carefully at her friend and discovered that her pensiveness had not gone unnoticed.

"Elizabeth, you have been _different_ since your travels in the summer. It seems to me you are burdened. Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Elizabeth drew a deep breath and decided to give all the truth she was capable of.

"Charlotte,_ I am different_. I believe I could trust you with my life. I may at some point in time call on that trust, but for the moment I have nothing to share."

That statement itself, although it was probably just clearly stating something Charlotte already strongly suspected, further cemented the bond between the two. Charlotte did not feel any compulsion to pry into Lizzy's secrets, but it was comforting to know she had her friend's respect and would be called in case of true need.

* * *

Elizabeth and Charlotte separated some few minutes later to spend more time with their other friends. Charlotte continued an earlier discussion she had with Louisa Golding.

Elizabeth went to spend a bit of time with Jane, and sometimes Mr. Bingley, but found she was mostly distracted by thoughts of Mr. Darcy. The gentleman had greeted her politely upon arrival and tried a few times to engage her in conversation. He was always deferential and respectful and, she begrudgingly had to admit, somewhat charming. She realized that she had been nothing but churlish to date and wondered if that was her best strategy. The man clearly wanted _some_ type of acquaintance with her, or he at least wanted to feel that he was truly forgiven for his unkind remarks. Elizabeth realized that she had offered the words of forgiveness, but not the sentiment, and was carefully trying to decide how she should allow just enough to slake the man's thirst without drowning either of them.

The entire evening had been spent asking herself the same question with the same lack of results. He was certainly handsome, but not in what she would consider a bad way. Most truly handsome men she had met knew perfectly well that they were well formed, and always had. They nearly always carried that knowledge in their bearing in an attitude of overt pride and haughtiness that Elizabeth could not like. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, dressed well, but did not strut or preen, and so long as the matchmakers left him alone, he left them alone. When he was talking with a gentleman, a wife, a matron or just about anybody that was not a potential matrimonial target, he seemed from a distance to be very amiable. Quite why Elizabeth found herself able to make such a detailed assessment was a mystery to her.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were similar and different in most interesting ways. Mr. Bingley was happy and seemed to feel a compulsion to make everyone around him happy, even if they did not particularly want to be. Mr. Darcy was uncomfortable in crowds, but once someone got inside his guard, he seemed to offer more genuine thoughtfulness. Mr. Bingley smiled and laughed with everyone, while Mr. Darcy treated them with a bit more reserve, but also a bit more respect.

Nobody could fault the man's persistence either. Aside from his manners at the assembly, which frankly were no worse than her father's, whenever he deigned to attend, Mr. Darcy had shown quite a remarkable amount of character. He was kind to her sisters, which was sometimes even beyond Elizabeth's capabilities, and he even managed to hold a five-minute conversation with Maria Lucas, a feat the lady would have considered nigh on impossible. He even, apparently, watched her enough to ascertain who were her particular friends, mostly by listening for sensible conversation, even if he did not intrude or otherwise participate.

* * *

Charlotte's circuit of the room and her acquaintances eventually placed her in the path of a man she had enjoyed knowing all her life.

"Mr. Bennet, are you enjoying the evening, Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Lucas. I must say it is almost worth leaving my library for the evening. Tell me, young lady, what do you think about our bewildering couple?"

Charlotte was a bit confused by his reference but following his eyes as he nodded around the room, she realized she had been noticing peculiar behavior all evening without being able to quite put her finger on it. The question from the Bennet patriarch made her observations clear.

"I would say, Sir, that bewildering is the right word. I presume you mean Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy?"

"Can you imagine anyone else here that would spark my interest? Of course, there are Jane and Mr. Bingley, but you cannot countenance that little play being of very much interest, let alone bewilderment."

"No, Mr. Bennet. I imagine you would not find yourself utterly absorbed by your eldest daughter's matrimonial prospects."

While it sounded like quite a biting comment, Mr. Bennet laughed, and Charlotte joined him. Mr. Bennet's legendary indolence was something everyone knew about and had come to accept or not. Charlotte had been aware of it for a long time but, much like Elizabeth, found it much more convenient to concentrate on the father's wit and ignore any supposed shortcomings in his daughters' upbringings.

After a moment, Charlotte felt it was time to try to see if Elizabeth's father agreed with her observations.

"Well, sir, are you astonished by Mr. Darcy's seemingly abrupt change in demeanor from the first assembly, where he talked to nobody and his current nearly universal amiability?"

"Partially, Miss Lucas, although that part is readily understandable if you just give the man leave to have a bad night at the assembly. I nearly always have bad nights when I attend assemblies, so I can readily sympathize with his plight."

"So, would you assert that Mr. Darcy's behavior this evening is ordinary for him?"

Now Charlotte thought she was bordering on uncivil gossip and would not have asked the question of anybody but Mr. Bennet, but she felt confident he would answer her honestly and keep the conversation quiet.

Mr. Bennet understood the gambit, laughed a bit and replied, "This is his normal disposition when he wants to be amiable. I cannot say how often he wants to display such a quality. I believe this is probably the way he would like to behave in society, but I find myself uncertain that society has allowed him to do so regularly. But enough about Mr. Darcy; what say you about our Lizzy?"

"It would seem Sir, that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth vacillate between attraction and repulsion. I do not ever recall two people trying so very hard to avoid speaking to each other yet remaining within sight and hearing. Neither will go to the trouble of going to an entirely different room, but they both seem to be studying the other like hunter and prey."

Mr. Bennet laughed along with Charlotte, aware she was probably overstating her case for effect, an effort he could well appreciate.

"I believe you may have the right of it, Miss Lucas. Perhaps you might like to 'encourage' them?"

Charlotte agreed that it might be diverting to do so, but only if it could be done subtly. She moved onto other topics and spent another quarter hour talking to the gentleman before moving on to her other friends.

* * *

Charlotte eventually made her way back to Elizabeth's side, and they wandered the room together. After a small conversation with Colonel Forster about a ball, she noticed that Mr. Darcy had managed to once again work his way to where he could hear it, so she decided to follow Mr. Bennet's instructions just to see what happened.

Raising her voice slightly, Charlotte asked, "Do you agree, Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy seemed startled to be addressed thus, and Elizabeth looked likewise alarmed, but Charlotte thought that since they had been circling each other all night, it was high time they spoke in the same conversation.

Mr. Darcy moved closer, and replied, "I assume you are referring to your request to the Colonel to hold a ball?"

"Yes, that is the question."

Darcy looked more at Elizabeth than Charlotte, and replied, "I suppose you would assume I oppose the idea. Miss Elizabeth is quite aware that I am frequently not at my best in balls, but I do believe I would support it. The fact that I am uncomfortable with balls does not negate their value. I can always decline to attend, and it would probably be a good opportunity for the militia to meet the local gentry."

Elizabeth listened to the statement curiously, and Charlotte just waited for a moment to see if she would say something in reply. She waited what amounted to several heartbeats in vain, and finally decided to force the issue.

"What do you think, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth reddened slightly, apparently surprised to be asked, but finally replied, "I agree with Mr. Darcy."

That seemed to be all she had to say on the matter, so Charlotte decided to end the torture by asking Elizabeth to play some music. The request happened at every gathering as Elizabeth was quite popular, and they usually had a good few minutes of banter while Elizabeth tried to either decline or minimize her skill. However, on this night, Elizabeth just agreed without argument.

Both ladies curtsied to Mr. Darcy and Colonel Forster and strolled towards the pianoforte.

* * *

Darcy wandered over to where he could watch the performer without interruption and paid her his full attention; something he rarely did for anybody but his sister. _Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. _After a song or two, Darcy decided that he _liked_ her performance, and that was really all he cared about. She did make the occasional error but displayed such a love of the music that these were easily overlooked.

She was succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary. Darcy noticed a bit of eye-rolling among his fellow audience members that was hardly polite, but which probably presaged a performance that would not satisfy the audience. He was quite pleasantly surprised when Miss Elizabeth stayed beside her sister to turn the pages and appeared to be talking to her during the performance. He found both the performance and the interaction between the sisters quite pleasing.

"Were you expecting a calamity, Mr. Darcy?"

The gentleman nearly jumped out of his skin, but naturally tried not to show it.

"I am afraid Miss Lucas, that I was unduly influenced by the reaction of others and did not give Miss Mary a fair chance."

The honesty of the response improved Charlotte's already positive impression of the gentleman, and she replied, "Is that not often the way of the world, Sir?"

"Yes, Miss Lucas. I am as guilty of that particular sin as anybody, and perhaps more so than most."

"And yet, you did not carry your prejudice forward against the evidence."

"I hope that I would not, Miss Lucas."

Charlotte was still wondering about the mystery of Lizzy and Mr. Darcy and decided to dig a little bit.

"Mr. Darcy, I must confess, that Mary's musical ability was not always so adequate. She was blessed with industry but not much talent. Her playing six months ago was mechanical and quite dreadful, I am embarrassed to say. I hope you will forgive such an uncharitable statement."

"Of course, Miss Lucas. What changed?"

"Lizzy changed… Elizabeth I mean. She came back from her holiday last summer and started spending much more time with Mary. I believe the two of them both helped each other. Lizzy was always musical but lazy and careless. Mary was precise, but not very musical. They have been practicing together for months and it has helped both."

Darcy nodded, and replied, "I can only say that both sisters perform admirably, Miss Lucas. I would not like to embarrass either of them, so perhaps you might convey my sentiments to them privately?"

Charlotte wondered what this man was all about. She had spoken in more confidence than she ordinarily would with such a recent acquaintance but did not feel that he would take advantage of it. She was starting to feel he was a man to be trusted; but she had no idea how she had come to that realization. Both Mr. Bennet and Charlotte's father, Sir William had good opinions of the gentleman, so perhaps she was joining the list of people in Meryton who liked him… a list that seemed to include everyone but Lizzy.

* * *

After a song by Mary, and a short duet by both sisters, Lydia danced lightly up to the pianoforte and demanded Mary play some dancing music. Mary agreed quite reluctantly. Elizabeth was never quite certain if Mary truly disliked the music and the objection was real, or if the sisters had made their roles in their little play so fixed that nobody could deviate.

Within minutes, the carpets were rolled up and dance partners were being solicited. The dance was much more informal than it would be at a ball or assembly, so most of the time people were solicited for a single dance instead of the traditional set.

Elizabeth stood and enjoyed Mary's playing for a bit, then decided she would venture to the punch table for some refreshment. She had just begun her journey around the dancers, when Sir William, who had been talking to Mr. Darcy for some minutes about his favorite topic, St. James, as well as houses in town, seemingly felt compelled to perform a gallant deed.

"Miss Eliza, may I suggest Mr. Darcy as a dance partner. I know he generally dislikes the entertainment, but you are both so skilled I cannot imagine either of you denying me the pleasure of seeing you dance."

Somewhat disconcerted by the request, Elizabeth responded, "Sir William, I must beg you not to believe I came here in search of a partner. I have not the least intention of dancing tonight."

"Miss Elizabeth, it would be my honor to step out with you if you are so inclined."

Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy had been caught completely by surprise by Sir William, and like her, was trying to make the best of it, which she appreciated. She thought to do the same.

"I thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I am truly not prepared to dance this evening. I do appreciate the offer."

She was not at all certain why she had added that last bit, but it seemed the polite thing to do.

Mr. Darcy bowed very gallantly, and she escaped as quickly as she could.

* * *

Darcy was still sitting deep in thought a few minutes later when Miss Bingley sidled up beside him, and asked, "I can imagine your thoughts now, Mr. Darcy."

As usual, he declined to spend much of his effort answering the lady. Long experience had taught him it was best to give very minimalistic answers, since it seemed impossible to talk any sense into her. Darcy had endured more than one conversation with Bingley about his sister, but no true improvement could been seen, and Darcy thought it was not his task to rein her in. She perhaps thought he might offer for her someday, but he had long ago determined nothing could convince him to do so.

"I imagine not."

He hoped rather than believed that would be enough to dissuade her, but that was apparently not to be.

_"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner–in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise–the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!"_

Still somewhat distracted by his previous conversation with Miss Elizabeth, he decided to try to solve the problem Miss Bingley posed once and for all.

"To the contrary, Miss Bingley. I was thinking that this has been my most enjoyable evening in Hertfordshire thus far, and quite possibly the best of this last year. I believe I might start having similar gatherings at Pemberley in future."

The look on her face was priceless… absolutely priceless.


	9. On Foot

A week had gone by since the gathering at Lucas Lodge. Elizabeth and Mary returned to Longbourn tired from fighting the blustery autumnal weather and hurrying to ready themselves for supper, when they learned the dreadful news that their mother had sent Jane to Netherfield _on horseback, in the rain. _Jane had received a note from the Bingley sisters asking for her company for supper, and Mrs. Bennet decided sending her on horseback would be just the thing, since rain seemed likely which might force Jane to stay overnight. The letter indicated the gentlemen were not even present, as they were dining with the officers.

It took just about all the discipline she had to resist the temptation to bellow. As far as Elizabeth was concerned, Jane was doing _just fine _with Mr. Bingley, and did not require any 'assistance'. A mother ensuring her offspring had opportunity to spend time with a gentleman was rational, and everyone did it. Sending a daughter to a visit on a horse in the rain when the man was not even home just showed desperation, a mercenary attitude, or a lack of common sense. Elizabeth thought that such an ill thought out scheme was certainly not likely to recommend a lady to a suitor who had his pick of attractive, well‑connected and well-dowered ladies.

After fretting late into the night, which for a few minutes at a time had at least the benefit of taking away her worries about Mr. Darcy learning her secrets, she arose irritable and feeling put out.

A note appeared at breakfast with the not very astonishing news that a lady soaked to the skin from riding in the rain had become ill. _Who could have predicted it? _Elizabeth thought the scheme did nothing but make her family look foolish. She railed at her mother for some time, but that had no effect whatsoever. She eventually, in a rare fit of temper, even complained to her father.

"Papa, you cannot possibly have approved of this scheme?"

Her father's response, made to both ladies, made Elizabeth nearly as angry as her mother's had.

"Well, my dear, if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness–if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders."

Elizabeth would probably have considered Mrs. Bennet's response amusing in her earlier life, but at the time it just made her angry.

"Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage."

Elizabeth wanted to do something very improper in her frustration, but ladies did not scream or stamp their feet… at least decorous ladies did not. Were there no limits to how improper the Bennet family was to act?

Elizabeth comprehended perfectly well her mother's plan. If she could get the carriage, she would go to Netherfield, primarily to ensure that Jane stayed right there for a week or more. She would 'evaluate' Jane's illness, and no matter what she said in Longbourn, at Netherfield she would ensure that Jane appeared close to death's door. It was obvious to Elizabeth, as was the fact that Jane staying alone at Netherfield would be highly improper. The whole debacle was also such an obvious stratagem that Mr. Bingley would have to be very dull indeed to not recognize it, and even if Mr. Bingley remained oblivious,_ Mr. Darcy would not. _Despite her ambivalence about the man, she did know he was smarter than that.

"Papa, Jane really should not be staying in a bachelor household. As Mama has clearly stated, she has but a trifling cold. Let us take the carriage and return her home where she belongs, before we gather even more ridicule."

Elizabeth braced for her mother's indignation and received it in the full measure.

"You will do no such thing, Miss Lizzy Bennet. Jane is right where she needs to be. How is she to fix the man if she is not in his company? It is none of your business anyway."

Quite frustrated, Elizabeth replied, with what her father was happy to see as some of her fire from before the summer.

"She is _not_ in his company, Mama. She is upstairs in a bedroom; no doubt being interrogated by his haughty sisters as we speak. She _could not_ be in his company in any house that practiced basic decorum until she is recovered enough to come downstairs. When she is well enough to do that, she will be well enough to ride home in a carriage. There is no way to satisfy your desire for Jane to be in his company and propriety at the same time."

"Oh, propriety, pish! You are becoming as tiresome as Mary with all your talk of propriety, Lizzy. _I will not have it. Leave off now._"

That conversation had left her in a bit of a quandary. Elizabeth had firmly decided to try her best to be entirely proper, yet she was thrust again and again into these situations. She had to grudgingly admit that her insistence that Jane being at Netherfield was indecorous was not _necessarily_ correct. The rules of decorum were unwritten, vague and frequently contradictory. Since Mr. Bingley did in fact have his sister acting as hostess, it _might_ be considered acceptable, but Elizabeth thought it was both ill‑mannered, and counterproductive. However, having raised her objection and been thwarted, basic parental respect indicated she would have to take her mother's clearly stated instructions. Perhaps all would be well, but she felt it was more likely to be a disaster for Jane to stay there all alone for days.

Her father settled the matter by replying, "It matters not anyway, Lizzy. It may have escaped your notice, but Jane rode one of the carriage horses to Netherfield yesterday, and it is still there. Now, perhaps you, clever girl that you are, might assert that we could use the spare horse, or even go to Netherfield and return it before dinnertime, but alas, I sent the second horse off with young Jacob Masterson to get some supplies just this morning. You will not have our carriage today."

"Let us ask Mr. Bingley to return her then. Truly, he must be wishing to be rid of her."

"Bite your tongue, young lady. I will have no such request, and no more of your impertinence. Jane is just where she needs to be, and I daresay, she is right where Mr. Bingley desires her to be."

Elizabeth was at this point desperate, even if it did turn out that her mother was right, but also feeling guilty that she had not had a single thought for poor Jane's feelings during the entire debate. Everything was about her secret. Jane was such an accommodating person that Elizabeth sometimes thought she had no opinions of her own, but also recognized that thought as uncharitable. Even if she no longer felt that Jane was her closest confidant, she was still her second‑closest, and at the very least, a woman worthy of respect. Before Ramsgate, Elizabeth would have done anything to help Jane, and now it was all about her, her, her, her, her. Her secret! Her manners! Her beliefs! When had she become so selfish?

With these feelings abounding, Elizabeth finally decided that she must leave off being selfish. She had to go to Netherfield, ask Jane's opinion on the matter, and then help her sister in whatever way she could. If Jane was not averse to underhanded tricks to be in Mr. Bingley's company, who was Elizabeth to impose her opinion. If Jane wanted to come home, she should not be thwarted by her mother's schemes. There was no carriage, or even a horse available, but Elizabeth felt a responsibility to try to see to Jane's comfort, even if nobody else was. _Her only alternative was walking. She declared her resolution._

_"How can you be so silly as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there."_

_"I shall be very fit to see Jane–which is all I want."_

"Absolutely not. What are you thinking?"

"Papa?"

As head of the household, Mr. Bennet obviously had the last word, although he seldom took advantage of the privilege. He was finding the debate between mother and daughter diverting and was also satisfied that some bit of Elizabeth's lost fire seemed to be returning. He judged that thwarting her now would either remove what ground she had gained that morning, or it would rile her up enough to recover even more. Both seemed tempting, at least from an entertainment standpoint. In the end, he decided a father should see that all his offspring were at least healthy.

"All right, Lizzy. I think it might be a good idea to go ask Jane her opinion on the matter, since you and your mother seem to be at an impasse, and I have no strong opinion."

"Thank you, Papa. That is all I ask."

"Just so, Lizzy… but _remember this__._ The matter is somewhat ambiguous. Things are neither as improper as you think, nor as innocuous and desirable as your mother thinks. Let us give Jane the chance to decide. She is a year past her majority and no longer a child. You have my permission to ask her about her desires and help her achieve them… but you are not there to fulfill _your desires_. Have I made myself clear?"

"Very clear, Papa."

* * *

Before Ramsgate, Elizabeth would have happily walked the three miles to Netherfield without a second thought. It was just over an hour's walk, and easily accomplished. Even in the mud, it would only be an hour and a half. That day however, she was faced with the real question of how far she was willing to go to accomplish her goal. Mary had left that morning, before Jane's note arrived, to visit with Maria Lucas, so she did not even know what had transpired. Even if Mary was available and aware though, Elizabeth did not want to drag her younger sister into the mess that she was certain was occurring. She also had the nagging feeling that she was overreacting, but she could do nothing about that, short of spending the next three or four days fretting.

On asking around, Elizabeth found that Lydia and Kitty wanted to go to Meryton to look for the officers. As little as Elizabeth liked the idea of her sisters hunting officers, she had to admit that it might not be so bad. The two youngest had been acting somewhat more decorously as of late, at least in the presence of their older sisters, and Elizabeth thought it might be a good chance for them to prove themselves. It was decided between them that all three would walk to Meryton together, and the distance from Meryton to Netherfield was short enough that Elizabeth felt that she could walk it alone.

Her sense of justice demanded she be honest enough with herself to admit that she was _afraid to walk alone_, even though there was really no danger to be had in Hertfordshire. It was only another mile to Netherfield from Meryton, a mere twenty minutes, and it was time for her to pluck up her courage just a bit, for she truly did not want to spend the rest of her life afraid of shadows.

Before they arrived in Meryton, Elizabeth started seeing signs of the militia just about everywhere she looked. She was not quite certain how she felt about the soldiers. She had heard and read reports of the occasional bad apple among the armed forces, but for the most part she was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. It somehow felt safer having them around, even though, objectively, having that many unknown men should make her nervous. She could not explain it, but she was inclined to be trusting within reason.

Kitty and Lydia were just about in raptures over all the red coats they saw, and Elizabeth had to remind them at least twice that their mission for the day was to act with proper decorum and not embarrass the family. She doubted the lesson would really stick after she left, but she had to make the effort anyway.

Just before the turnoff for Netherfield, they encountered Colonel Forster talking with one of his officers, so all three ladies stopped to greet them.

Colonel Forster was a genial man of around forty who reminded Elizabeth a bit of Sir William Lucas. She had teased him a bit the night she met him at Lucas Lodge, and enjoyed his responses.

Colonel Forster bowed to the ladies, and greeted them, "Ah, Miss Bennets. Forgive me if I cannot quite get your names in the correct order just yet."

Lydia and Kitty giggled, while Elizabeth tried to get them to show more decorum, and the officer just seemed amused. It was left to Elizabeth to answer.

"No forgiveness is required, Colonel. I cannot tell those two apart myself."

The colonel chuckled, and asked, "Miss Elizabeth, I am happy to have met you this morning. I wonder if I might impose on your kindness."

Elizabeth smiled at the man, and replied, "How may I be of service, Colonel?"

The Colonel returned the smile, nodded a few times and began, "I am somewhat recently married, and my wife will be joining me in a few days' time. I am wondering if you and your elder sister might be willing to introduce her to some of your acquaintances, perhaps with Miss Lucas' assistance?"

"We would be delighted, Colonel. If you would send a note with the particulars, Jane and I will see to everything."

"My thanks, Miss Elizabeth. My wife will be very happy. She is not quite accustomed to this life she has chosen, and I believe your kindness will be of immeasurable value."

"Think nothing of it, Colonel. We are quite happy to be of assistance."

Lydia, seemingly incapable of keeping a thought to herself laughed and replied, "Oh, Colonel. This sounds so romantic. I believe I shall marry an officer one day."

The Colonel looked a bit startled, and replied gravely, "I hope you are not serious, young lady."

Lydia just laughed, and said, "La, you are so serious, Colonel. They are so handsome in their red coats, how could I not?"

Elizabeth exclaimed, "_Lydia_!", but it had little effect on her sister.

Colonel Forster looked even more serious, and asked, "Miss Lydia, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Sir!"

Colonel Forster asked Lydia to turn her hand palm up, counted out 10 shillings, and dropped it in her hands.

"What do you think that is, Miss Lydia?"

She looked at it and said, "Well, that is enough to get new ribbons for my green bonnet."

Kitty interrupted with, "That is my bonnet, not yours."

"Well, it looks much better on me."

Before the two could degenerate into a fight, the Colonel held up his hands and asked, "Supposed you had to eat with that. How far would it go?"

All three sisters shook their heads in perplexity. Elizabeth had a good idea of how far it would go, but she wondered at the Colonel's point. The two youngest had no idea what he was talking about.

The Colonel continued, "That my dears, would be _just_ enough to feed three people for a day… just barely, if you rarely had meat and never any puddings."

Lydia stomped her foot, and asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"

The Colonel ignored her, and calmly continued, "That is the daily pay for a lieutenant - ten shillings. Two days to get £1. One month for £15. That's £180 per annum. Out of that, he must pay for his own clothing, his own food, his own horse and his own weapons. If he has a wife and children, those come out of that as well. That is less than a tenth of what your father probably clears at Longbourn. The wife of a lieutenant cannot afford servants and must cook and clean her own home, which might move frequently. She cannot afford nurses for her children, so must raise them alone, and sometimes with a dead husband. She can afford _maybe_ one new dress per annum if she is very lucky. Ribbon and lace are completely out of the question. Are you beginning to comprehend me, ladies?"

Both ladies were staring at the Colonel with their mouths hanging open in dismay.

Elizabeth added, "That would mean you and any children would have to live on less than the Bennet sisters' combined pin money… quite a lot less. The only way to live reasonably well is to marry a Colonel or higher, and even for them, it is a hard life. Is a red coat worth that?"

Both sisters were still staring in a stupor, so Elizabeth thought she might give them a day or two to absorb the lesson.

"Colonel, I must go. Please let us know when your wife is to arrive. Kitty and Lydia, I shall see you later."

With that, Elizabeth left towards Netherfield, deep in thought. She had never had the slightest aspirations to attract officers like her sisters did, but she wondered what in the world would convince a man to risk life and limb for so little.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy liked the paths along the front side of Netherfield, and into the grove beyond. In practice, that meant he found only a dozen things he would change if it were his estate, instead of the usual hundred. He was just returning from a good walk in the estate's woods.

The gentleman was walking more these days than he typically did, and he was afraid to examine the change in habits very carefully. There was a good chance it was just the Hertfordshire air. There was an equally good chance it was the season and the beauty of the woods around Netherfield. It could be something as simple as the fact that Miss Bingley disliked walking and could not be induced by any reward to go more than a hundred yards, and not even that far if there was mud involved. He had to sheepishly admit, that it was entirely possible he did it just because he know Elizabeth Bennet liked to walk extensively, or at least, she had before the accident that he was not supposed to know about.

It seemed an odd coincidence that both the woman who had captured his imagination and his own sister had behavior changing events during the summer holidays, but he did not linger on that thought. Life was full of coincidences, and this was just one more. It had not even occurred to him to ask Mr. Bennet where Miss Elizabeth had suffered her accident, but he made a mental note to ask next time he was in the gentleman's company.

The front door was almost coming into view when he looped around an oak tree to walk onto Netherfield's front drive, and nearly ran into the last person he expected to see.

_"Miss Bennet!"_

_"Mr. Darcy"_

He stared in some minor stupefaction at the apparition in front of him, and barely managed to execute a bow to go with her reflexive curtsy.

The lady seemed just about as mortified as he did, but recovered faster, asking, _"I am come to enquire after my sister."_

_"On foot!"_

_"As you see!"_

Darcy thought that while they were discussing feet, he may as well just stuff his in his mouth, as he was not making very good progress. He had, with Sir William's unwitting assistance, managed to extract a couple dozen words from the lady at Lucas Lodge, although to be honest, they mostly consisted of her trying to politely escape him. He wished to follow‑up that minor success.

Miss Bennet looked at him for a few more seconds, then finally said, _"Would you be so kind as to take me to her?"_

_"Of course."_

Darcy turned and started to offer his arm, but then decided he would take one more attempt to see if he could get the lady to talk to him just a little bit. The gentleman had to reflect that he truly did not understand himself. The more Miss Elizabeth ignored him, the more he wanted her attention. He liked to believe that he was not just desiring what he could not have. Whether he was or not, he thought he would never be quite satisfied until he got some type of real response from this fascinating lady. Perhaps a bit of boldness was called for.

"Miss Elizabeth, I shall be happy to take you to your sister directly, but before I do, I must offer another apology."

He did not know whether to feel satisfaction or chagrin when the lady just looked at him with her eyes crossed in confusion. He waited patiently for her to say something… anything.

Finally, after what seemed like quite a long wait, she replied, "An apology for what, Mr. Darcy?"

He sighed, and said, "I have recollected the last few moments of conversation, and I realize when I said, 'on foot', that it sounded quite condescending and arrogant. For that, I apologize."

He watched her carefully, as he always seemed to do these few times they were in company. He rarely met anyone whose motives and actions were not easily discernable. In idle moments he wondered whether that was because he was very clever or because he just did not trouble himself to entertain enough acquaintances. He feared it was the latter, which was not something he liked to readily admit. However, if he planned to try to rectify this deficiency, he should open himself to more gentlefolk. Elizabeth Bennet most definitely belonged in this category, so ergo, he should get to know Elizabeth Bennet. Simple really!

At any rate, the lady always seemed to be _tense_. Fitzwilliam Darcy was in fact a thoughtful man and had spent quite a bit of time in introspection, so he was aware that he could be misreading her, but there was _something nervous_ about her countenance. Coupled with her first reaction to his name, he had to imagine something about _him_ made her nervous. Perhaps a true gentleman would have admitted defeat and just taken himself from her presence or avoided her, but he did not like to have mysteries hanging about. If his family's or his own reputation was in doubt, he at least owed it his sister and his legacy to understand the problem and try to rectify it. If she was still angry about his abominable behavior at the assembly, he must be polite until she truly forgave him. Therefore, he must persist towards an understanding with Elizabeth Bennet.

Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy was in fact a master of rationalization.

All these thoughts were swirling around his head, just as he noticed Miss Elizabeth was thinking overly long about his apology. She finally responded in a way that surprised him.

"Mr. Darcy… If it was your intent to be condescending or rude, I am afraid you missed the mark. I took those words to be nothing but concern for my safety. I apologize for misunderstanding you. I shall endeavor to be properly offended."

Looking at the young lady, he observed that she seemed to be vacillating between a sly smile, and an embarrassed frown. Darcy would have to guess that she had let out more than she intended, which made sense, since the previous weeks had been spent avoiding him altogether or saying the absolute minimum, although as he watched her in company, he had noticed she kept a wary eye on him quite often as well. His glimpses of her suggested that she was only displaying a tenth part of her normal wittiness, but she always held herself so guardedly around him that this was the first sign of any leakage. He occasionally overheard her conversations with ladies like Miss Lucas and they were very witty and intelligent, but Miss Bennet had not directed her cleverness towards him yet.

He wanted _more_, so he simply smiled broadly at her.

"Miss Elizabeth, I prostrate myself at your feet, and once again humbly beg your forgiveness."

"You are forgiven, Mr. Darcy."

Both remembered the last time those words had been spoken, and neither had any real idea what to do next. Elizabeth was still looking confused, and Darcy was looking for an opportunity to chip away at her reserve a bit.

Elizabeth thought with some chagrin that this was a man she _really could like if she allowed herself to_. What would that mean? Could she allow just a small glimmer of friendship to develop, or was that the way to ruin? Of only one thing was she certain. Meeting _Miss Darcy_ again was something she absolutely could not countenance! Such an event would be bad for everyone. Mr. Darcy's sister was in the enviable position of being unsure of _exactly_ what transpired in Ramsgate, and probably feeling safe and secure in her family. As far as she was concerned, G.W. was still alive and well; and Elizabeth wanted it to stay that way. Meeting her rescuer from Ramsgate would reopen the wounds, to nobody's benefit.

Elizabeth reckoned that Mr. Darcy was only in the neighborhood for a few more weeks at the most, and then he would leave. What was the exact amount of acquaintance she could permit the gentleman that would allow him to go back to wherever he came from and forget her? Too little cordiality and he might become fascinated and dig into the whys and wherefores of her dislike. Too much and he might wish her to become friends with his sister, even if he wanted nothing more from her. She had no idea how to walk the fine line, or even if she was being completely sensible.

Darcy was much less ambiguous in his thoughts. He was unequivocally convinced her friendship was worth the winning but was under no illusions that it would be easy. She was the first woman he could ever remember that had not the slightest interest in his person, his wealth, his estate or his position. He had been in company perhaps half a dozen times with Miss Elizabeth, and he knew for certain she had heard quite a bit about his situation from her mother, Miss Bingley and others. Every time she heard boasting of his estate or position, she either did not react in the least or grimaced in distaste. If he wanted her good opinion, he would have to earn it the hard way. The tools that brought most people to his attention were hindrances in her case.

"Miss Elizabeth, you will be reassured to know that the apothecary came by this morning and believes your sister suffers from naught but a bad cold. Unpleasant as it can be, he does not believe the danger to be acute. I can take you there directly."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy."

With that, he thought he had made enough progress for the day. The elder Miss Bennet was likely to be stuck at Netherfield for several days, and if he played his cards right, perhaps he could get Miss Elizabeth to stay to tend her. He once again offered his arm, and she took it with only slight reluctance.

* * *

The pair walked towards the house, with Elizabeth deep in thought. She eventually made a resolution about how she might be able to walk the narrow path with Mr. Darcy. If she asked for a favor, it would show that she did not absolutely hate him, without implying anything farther. It would also be a chance to mitigate some of her mother's improper behavior. Summoning her courage, she began.

"Mr. Darcy, I wonder if I could impose on you for a favor."

Darcy stopped abruptly in surprise, causing her to stop with him.

Continuing, Elizabeth said, "I know I have not been very nice to you, but I shall ask anyway."

Speaking carefully, he replied, "I must disagree, Miss Elizabeth. You have been perfectly amiable to me, and better than I deserve, but that is not the matter at hand, is it? How may I be of service?"

"It is about my sister, Sir. If I find as I expect that she is _not_ deathly ill, could you quietly arrange for Mr. Bingley's carriage to take us back to Longbourn? I fear my father's carriage is unavailable today, and I would rather not ask Mr. Bingley publicly, as it might embarrass him."

This shocked the gentleman. The very idea of two young ladies voluntarily abandoning the field when there were not one but two single young gentlemen to be hunted was not in the least what he had come to expect from marriageable ladies. Perhaps he was spending his time with the wrong marriageable ladies?

Elizabeth, feeling she had failed to make her case, and wanting to be abundantly clear, continued.

"Mr. Darcy. You are a man of the world. You know it is improper for her to stay in a bachelor house without a compelling reason. If she can sit up in a bed, she can most likely sit in a coach for the half‑hour it takes to go three miles."

Darcy was gratified to have pulled so many words from the lady, even as the content surprised him. Her suggestion was quite sensible, and he knew he should just accede immediately, but his curiosity compelled him.

"Do you always try to do what is _proper_, Miss Elizabeth?"

Sighing, she replied, "I try, Sir. I do not always succeed, but I try."

He noticed she neglected to mention that other members of her family did not always try so diligently, but he would not expect her to and would be disappointed if she did. Miss Elizabeth would answer for her own actions, but would not cast aspersions of others, or so he believed.

Deciding to take one more risk, he replied, "Miss Elizabeth, I applaud you for that. I hate to sound like a malcontent, but I can assure you, that attitude is not universal."

The young lady looked at him in some sympathy, and for just the briefest of moments, he felt like she let her guard down. It was only a moment, but then she seemed right back to being guarded with him. He was not overly concerned. He could deal with perplexity, guardedness and any other forms of caution the young lady exhibited. He had time and he had patience.

What Darcy could not do was to use trickery or deceit of any kind to worm his way into her regard. Disguise was his abhorrence, partially because he was abysmally unskilled in the craft. He also strongly believed that _there was a meanness in __all__ the arts which gentlemen sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bore affinity to cunning was despicable. _If he resorted to deceit, he would be little different from his former childhood friend, George Wickham. Darcy liked to believe that aside from his reticence and reserve, which were at least honest, he had _never_ employed any trick to try to gain friendship from anyone.

As these thoughts were going around in his head, Miss Elizabeth replied, "I thank you, Mr. Darcy. Will you help me?"

He answered instantly, "Of course, Miss Elizabeth. I assure you that I am at your disposal. I have my own carriage here, but I believe the appearance of things would be better if the master of the house did the honors. If you desire it after you see your sister, I will _quietly_ relay your request to Bingley. He will be reluctant to part with his guest, but I assure you that he would do nothing to cause you or Miss Bennet the slightest worry."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy thought this was probably the first unguarded thing she had ever said to him and was grateful for it. He thought to push his advantage a bit, since he had progressed much farther than he expected.

"Miss Elizabeth, there is another perfectly good way for propriety to be maintained. If you remained at Netherfield as a guest and chaperone for your sister, everyone's purpose would be well satisfied. Dare I also suggest, you might also receive less censure at home."

The last had been a bit much, and he saw that she had her guard back up in full force, so he thought he should try to undo the damage.

"I meant no offense, Miss Elizabeth."

She chuckled, but it was a grim sort of huff, more a lady-like substitute for a snort of displeasure.

"You need not apologize for speaking the truth, Mr. Darcy."

"True or not, some things should not be said, and I apologize. Will you consider it?"

Elizabeth was now in a quandary. She truly just wanted to take Jane home. She would a thousand times be willing to listen to her mother's chastisement than to spend more time worrying about how to guard herself from Mr. Darcy. The man had a way of worming his way into her confidence that disconcerted her. She had no sooner determined she would give him not an inch more than propriety demanded, as she had successfully done that first day in her father's study, than the man said something surprising and she found herself reacting all too much like the old Lizzy Bennet, and giving him a yard. She could not afford to let her guard down with this man, but she had such a difficult time maintaining it when he was so amiable.

Now, he had made a perfectly reasonable suggestion. As worrisome as the idea of being in his presence sounded, she knew it would be nothing more than a few minutes or hours here and there, nearly all of it spent in the company of Mr. Bingley and his sisters. It might be a perfect way to give the man enough 'friendship' to satisfy him and get him to leave her alone. The alternative was to invent a pretext to leave the county entirely for a few months, but it was difficult to think of a viable excuse to do so without raising even more attention. Even that would not be successful if Jane managed to tighten her connection with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy was one of his closest friends, so in the longer term, she just needed a way to keep him at arm's length.

Elizabeth couldn't quite decide whether staying for a few days was good strategy or mere rationalization, but eventually decided she should accede to her own chastisement. She needed to talk to Jane and take her sister's desires into account. There was more to the world than Lizzy Bennet's wants and desires.

"I will, Mr. Darcy. May we go see my sister now."

"Of course."

With that, they finally did approach the house. Mr. Darcy asked a passing maid by name to kindly take Miss Elizabeth to her sister.

* * *

_A/N: You'll notice I took a few lines from the 1995 BBC series. I generally plagiarize the book for my Jane-speak, but the scene in the woods was too perfect to pass up._


	10. The Bedroom

_A/N: Longer delay than usual for this chapter. That pesky RL tends to intrude. We are about 1/3 of the way through the story, I think. Wade_

* * *

Elizabeth's plan to return to Longbourn failed almost immediately. When she was shown into Jane's room, she saw Sally Cobb, a young woman of her acquaintance. Sally was daughter to one of the Longbourn tenants who had entered service, first in Graystone Manor five miles from Meryton, and later at Netherfield when it was leased. Sally was familiar with Elizabeth and Jane from their regular visits to the tenants over many years.

"Elizabeth smiled at her old friend, and said, "Sally, it is so nice to see you."

"Good morning, Miss Lizzy. I expected you might be along."

Elizabeth was happy to see someone so well known, but not thrilled that Sally looked very tired. She asked on some concern, "You look just about exhausted, Sally. Are you all right?"

Sally just laughed a bit and replied, "Do not concern yourself Miss Lizzy. I spent all night with your sister, but I will be fine."

"All alone without relief?", Elizabeth asked in surprise.

Netherfield was a large estate, leased by a wealthy man. There were bound to be more people in the house who might have assisted. She would think any halfway sensible mistress of an estate of that size would be mortified to think that the servants might gossip that she could not afford more than one maid to tend to a sick woman.

Sally just chuckled once more, and replied, "You just settle yourself down, ma'am. No harm was done, and both you and your sister have nursed me through illness more times than I can count."

"Yes, you were either a bit of a sickly child, or you just liked Mrs. Hill's soup too much and pretended to be ill."

Both women smiled in kind recognition. Accepting Sally's assurances, she set out to learn her sister's status in detail.

Jane welcomed Elizabeth eagerly, but only managed to stay awake a few minutes. Sally told Elizabeth of Jane's many attempts to expel the remains of the fish course from her stomach, long after there was anything to be gained by the exercise. Her sister had been feverish and nauseous all night, slept very poorly and was otherwise miserable. Writing the short note to Longbourn had sapped the rest of her strength. Jane -being Jane- had minimized her discomfort, showing both an admirable bit of consideration for the feelings of her family, but an appalling lack of sense.

There was not the slightest chance that anything short of extraordinary measures would get the eldest Bennet to the hall, let alone in a carriage to Longbourn. Elizabeth heard the report with sympathy towards Jane, anger at her mother's machinations, resignation that her dear sister was to be stuck at Netherfield for at least a day, and chagrin that all her selfish plans would amount to naught.

She sent Sally off to her bed with thanks and sat down to tend to Jane. She was still feeling quite unwell, with a high but not alarming fever, so Elizabeth tried her best to cool it a bit with cold cloths.

Later in the morning, the Netherfield ladies came in for a visit, and for a time seemed to be offering Jane a lot of caring and solicitude. Elizabeth thought that while she was still quite suspicious of the two ladies, she could probably like them quite enough if they acted like this all the time. They spent an hour with the patient and Elizabeth, and the time was quite pleasant. Their powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.

The apothecary came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely.

Elizabeth stayed with Jane for the remainder of the morning. She asked for a tray for luncheon, even though Jane was sound asleep by then, mostly so she could have some time to think. By the time the clock was sneaking up on three o'clock, she resolved what to do. She was certain Miss Bingley would be quite happy for her to return to Longbourn, while Mr. Bingley would probably go into vapors over the very idea.

No amount of thinking could convince her that Jane should be left to the tender mercies of Miss Bingley with nobody but Sally to really care for her. It would be unfair to Sally, Jane and even Miss Bingley. Primarily though, Elizabeth was still convinced that it was not proper. The rules of propriety were not an exact science, but she still thought that Jane staying in the house with two bachelors and an unmarried mistress could not be considered correct. By all rights, Mr. or Mrs. Bennet should have come to the house, but without a carriage available for the day, neither of them had any practical way to get there… well, except for asking Mr. Bingley to send his carriage, asking to borrow Sir William's carriage, asking Mr. Darcy to fetch them, or asking… well, she could go on in that vein all day. The truth was that Elizabeth and Mary were the only ones who would be concerned about the impropriety of the situation, so it was likely she was overreacting.

Eventually, after much thought, Elizabeth decided she would have to follow Mr. Darcy's suggestion that she stay to take care of Jane. She was not at all certain she wanted to do, so but had managed to rope herself into it by circumstances. Had she never appeared at Netherfield in the first place, Elizabeth would have spent days fretting, but Jane would have survived. The Bingley sisters could both be amiable when they chose, but Elizabeth did not quite trust them; particularly when Jane, late in the afternoon, related the gist of the conversation the previous evening. The sisters seemed to be on a fishing expedition for things that could be held against the Bennets. Elizabeth did not want to pre-judge them harshly, but she did not want to overly trust them either. Had Elizabeth stayed in Longbourn, the sisters would have tired of caring for Jane before long, and Sally would have picked up the burden.

However, since she did appear, she did spend the day with Jane, her sister did ask for her company and she, by her own words, was concerned about the propriety of the situation, Elizabeth had neatly boxed herself in. She would have to stay and do her best to shuffle Jane out of the house at the first opportunity. In that matter, Mr. Darcy was correct. Her presence, along with the hostess would satisfy just about anyone that nothing untoward was occurring.

* * *

Around three o'clock, Elizabeth decided that she had to get the unpleasant chore over with by arranging to stay. It had been Mr. Darcy's suggestion, and she felt certain he could make it happen quietly, though the responsibility for the offer was technically for the mistress of the house to proffer. Elizabeth had been reading to Jane for over an hour and Jane was finally sleeping fitfully, so Elizabeth decided to go in search of either the master of the house, the mistress or as a last resort, Mr. Darcy. What little she knew about him seemed to indicate he suffered from a bit of pride and extreme discomfort in crowds, but otherwise he seemed completely proper in his manners and actions.

A footman directed her towards a parlor where the sisters were keeping company with the two gentlemen and offered to announce her. She demurred the announcement, telling the young man that it was unnecessary and allowing him to get back to his duties.

As she approached the parlor, she was once again uncertain about whether she should have kept the footman with her or not, because she overheard a conversation that she could not at all like. She wondered if she was destined to become a professional eavesdropper. Miss Bingley's wit seemed to be able to flow long, and she was using it to abuse Elizabeth and just about anything Bennet she could come up with.

_Elizabeth's manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added, "She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."_

_"She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!"_

_"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office."_

_"Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said Bingley; "but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."_

Elizabeth had to smile at that. While she would love to have Mr. Bingley spend his efforts teaching his sisters enough manners to speak well in the first place instead of having to contradict them, she imagined that to be a Herculean task, and no sensible man would pick up the yoke. Miss Bingley was a fully-grown woman, with several London seasons to her credit, and her character seemed as fixed as if it were firmly clamped in Mr. O'Malley's vise back at the smithy in Harpenden. It was enough that the gentleman knew his own mind and would come to a lady's defense when required.

Miss Bingley ignored the reply and carried on.

_"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure, and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."_

_"Certainly not."_

_"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum."_

_"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley._

Elizabeth wanted to turn around and leave, but she was now able to peek into the open door and was struck by what she saw. Apparently, this type of talk was common enough in the Bingley household that nobody worried about servants overhearing.

She could see Mr. Darcy, and he looked both distinctly uncomfortable and quite angry. She had been endeavoring for weeks to speak as little as possible to the gentleman, but that did not mean she could not observe him. She had done her best to pay attention to the gentleman in every gathering they shared, even going so far as to listen to a few of his conversations, so long as they were in public. She hoped she had been subtle about it.

Mr. Darcy was facing away from her, but she could see his jaw working as if he were grinding his teeth, while his fist was not moving, but seemed to be clenching and unclenching silently. It was obvious he was uncomfortable and angry, as any houseguest should be, when the mistress of the house was being both impolite and vulgar, while the master of the house did not appear to feel like a battle. Why did he say nothing when the conversation clearly bothered him? Had long experience taught him doing so was counterproductive? Did he want to avoid engaging Miss Bingley in any conversation at all? He could easily absent himself from the room, so why did he stay? All these questions left her perplexed, but the Bingley sisters were by no means finished.

A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again, _"I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."_

_"I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton."_

_"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."_

_"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed heartily._

_"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."_

_"But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,"_ replied Miss Bingley with what Elizabeth thought was a bit of a nasty smirk in her voice.

Mr. Darcy had apparently had enough, as he replied very calmly.

"I did not quite realize you were so fascinated with the local gossip, Miss Bingley. I assume you must be enjoying your visit to Hertfordshire enormously, if you find the trading of tales so amusing. Can you tell me, since you seem to be an expert on the subject, the name of the attorney? I have a small legal matter that requires a quick response, and it may be easier to seek the council of the Miss Bennet's uncle than sending to town. If you do not know, I shall ask Miss Elizabeth for his name, and specialty."

Elizabeth almost laughed at that response. She peeked her head around to where she could see Miss Bingley, as all she had seen so far was a view from the side of Mr. Darcy. The 'lady' seemed to be either seething or frightfully confused, while Mr. Darcy had quit grinding his teeth, and was calmly taking a sip from his teacup.

Miss Bingley, apparently not one to be dissuaded once she had chosen a course, replied, "To the contrary, Mr. Darcy. I am not enjoying this county at all. I cannot wait to go back somewhere more civilized."

Elizabeth wondered what Mr. Darcy would have to say about that, and he did not disappoint.

"Perhaps, Miss Bingley if you feel so strongly about it, Mrs. Hurst could act as your brother's hostess for a time. As I told you at Lucas Lodge, I am enjoying Hertfordshire, and plan to stay long enough to fulfill my promise to your brother."

Miss Bingley immediately started to disavow from her earlier statements.

"No, Mr. Darcy. You mistake me. I am quite enjoying my time in Hertfordshire and would not dream of leaving until my brother has finished his task of preparing himself for the eventual purchase of his estate. I would not dream of abandoning him."

Elizabeth by this point had heard more than enough and wished she had brought the footman with her. She could not announce herself at this point, so she quietly returned to Jane's room with the intention of returning in a half‑hour after Miss Bingley finally finished her tirade.

She found Mr. Darcy's behavior curious. He had sat silently until he apparently lost his temper, which was understandable enough. She did that nearly every day with her mother and her sisters. His assertion that he was enjoying the county seemed like a vote of confidence. He had made a bad start, but she could believe based on her observations that he was starting to get along with most of the people they regularly encountered. He did not appear to enjoy Miss Bingley's company, but he had come here for a reason and would leave when that reason was satisfied.

After she had calmed down, the request to stay as a guest was made, and happily accepted, or at least it was happily accepted among the male population of the household. The female portion accepted it with resignation, so Elizabeth went back to tend Jane until dinner.

* * *

At half-past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. Miss Bingley was back to pretending to be friendly, and since the lady did not know that Elizabeth had overheard the earlier conversation, probably thought she was convincing. The sisters carried on for a time about how terrible it was to suffer from a cold, and then moved onto other trivial subjects.

Elizabeth now knew that the two sisters were mostly trying to use Jane to brighten up what they considered a dismal existence in such a backwater, find objectionable things about the Bennets they could use to dissuade their brother from making an attachment, or more likely both at the same time.

Dinner passed with Miss Bingley mostly fawning over Mr. Darcy, asking for his comfort in every way she could, placing her body in provocative positions that reminded Elizabeth of Lydia, and generally making a nuisance of herself, apparently believing that would recommend her to the gentleman.

Mr. Darcy mostly ignored her, as any sensible person would. At least the Bingley sisters managed to refrain from abusing her while she was at the same table.

Her conversation with Mr. Hurst ended rather abruptly when she indicated she preferred a plain dish to a ragout, and he had nothing more to say.


	11. The Card Table

After dinner, Elizabeth returned to Jane_ and sat with her till summoned to coffee. Jane was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her sleep, and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should go downstairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment._

_"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."_

_"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."_

Elizabeth at first wanted to gently dispute the words, which were certainly intended as a slight, but she had a brilliant idea that she thought might just kill two birds with one stone. She could not bring herself to be outright impolite or rude, particularly to Mr. Darcy, but she _could_ defend herself while remaining absolutely‑precisely polite, which might accomplish the same thing. She was at the time not certain if she was returning to her earlier impertinence or, after Ramsgate, she was just unwilling to suffer attacks without retaliation. This was the second one today, although Miss Bingley was unaware that she had heard the first. Smiling complacently, Elizabeth decided to use Miss Bingley's own tactics.

"Miss Bingley, my apologies that I did not learn this earlier, but may I ask where you hail from?"

Miss Bingley could not imagine why Miss Eliza had not responded to what she intended as a subtle snub, since nobody really liked a bluestocking, not to mention that she also believed the woman was avoiding the game either because she lacked skill, or she could not afford the stakes.

Looking perplexed, the lady replied, "London."

Elizabeth offered a bright smile and played an old game she had found to be effective when she wanted to sound less intelligent than she was. She pretended to be Lydia.

"Oh, so you have always lived in Town. My mistake! I thought I detected a more northern accent in your speech. It must have been interesting growing up in the city. My cousins live on Gracechurch Street, which I imagine must be very similar to your home. My uncle is a tradesman just like your father, so your upbringing must have been along the same lines. What was it like growing up in Town?"

Mr. Darcy was facing away from her, and he did not turn towards either of the ladies. A slight smile seemed to be gracing his face, even though he was studying his cards most intently. That was not ideal.

Miss Bingley looked quite put out, and refused to answer, but her brother took up the office with quite a laugh.

"No… no… Your ears are correct, Miss Elizabeth. We are not from London. We hail from Scarborough. Much of our family still lives there. I believe my sister simply meant that we presently have a townhouse in London."

Elizabeth gave him a big smile just to show the she liked _someone _in the house.

Mr. Bingley gave a big return grin, and when his sister turned her nose up and looked away, he looked directly at Elizabeth and winked, before continuing.

"Miss Elizabeth, we are from Scarborough, and you are correct about our parents. My father made his fortune in the sailcloth business. He very well may have known your uncle. We used to live in London, but now we live in Hertfordshire."

At that declaration, Miss Bingley looked like someone just threw a dead skunk on her lap, but at least refrained from saying anything, although Elizabeth could just guess she was seething, which was not a bad thing.

Elizabeth replied, "Ah, I see. Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Now I understand."

Mr. Bingley looked like was quite happy to be of service. He considered the problem solved and turned back to his cards, but Miss Bingley looked distinctly displeased with her reply.

"Could you clarify, Miss Eliza? What is it you now understand?"

"Your manner of speech, Miss Bingley. You were raised so far from London and the more populated southern regions that I imagine the customs are different. It must be a Northern‑Southern effect. In the South, it would be considered very bad manners to shorten my address to an arbitrary diminutive like 'Eliza' without knowing me well and without my permission, but I suppose it is common practice in Scarborough, so I am not offended. I was just curious about the origin of the custom."

Miss Bingley turned about three shades of red immediately, while Mr. Darcy said not a word, but a quick glance revealed that he was just about to burst out laughing. Mr. Bingley was not quite so disciplined, and he chortled with mirth. He finally replied.

"No, Miss Elizabeth. It is _not_ the custom in Scarborough. We are taught good manners there as well, some more diligently than others, apparently. Perhaps they teach such things in seminary. It is all quite a mystery to me."

He continued chuckling, while his sister continued grinding her teeth and staring daggers at Elizabeth.

That lady felt a bit guilty. Of course, she did not feel guilty about putting Miss Bingley in her place. Before Ramsgate, she would have said stronger things with less provocation, and after Ramsgate she knew she might need the strength to protect herself at any time and would no longer be trifled with by anyone. She did not particularly even feel guilty that she might have hurt Jane's chances with Mr. Bingley. Miss Bingley was already an enemy before she said anything and would still be unrelenting in her displeasure regardless of what Elizabeth said or did. The exercise put Miss Bingley on notice that Elizabeth had her limits and would not accept unlimited condescension. It also served to tell Mr. Bingley that he might want to consider whether his sister's behavior reflected well on him. It would not do to tell him directly of course, but hinting was acceptable.

Neither of those things really bothered her, though. What did was the fact that the _only_ reason she said anything at all was to try to dissuade Mr. Darcy from extending their acquaintance, and nothing else really mattered to her. She had been assured all her life by every authority she knew that men did not like impertinent, unpleasant or strong women. This was a way for her to be all three without turning vicious or impolite, and without breaking a single rule of good manners. The fact that she was subtly attacking one of Mr. Darcy's friends should make it even more offensive.

As for Jane and Mr. Bingley, the man was either resilient enough to stand on his own two feet or he was not. If the sisters could pry the brother away from Jane, the man was not worthy of her affection, and the sooner that fact was brought to light the better. It seemed certain Miss Bingley would oppose the match with vigor, regardless of what any Bennet did, so this would be a good chance to judge his ability to withstand the assault.

Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, would _never_ interfere in his friend's affections, so he was not to be a factor in Jane's case. Any relationship between Jane and Mr. Bingley was not anyone's business, and even venturing an opinion would be terribly ungentlemanly. She just did not believe Mr. Darcy capable of such low trickery.

In the end, Elizabeth did not believe she helped or hindered Jane with her setdown, but felt selfish that all her motivations were rationalized after the fact.

Unfortunately, far-far too late, she had a disquieting thought. It was entirely possible that Mr. Darcy _might like impertinent women_. In that case, Elizabeth's defense of herself might _raise_ her in his esteem. If that turned out to be the case, she thought she may have played her hand very poorly. She might have to resort to being unpleasant to someone other than Miss Bingley, if Mr. Darcy started showing signs of too much interest.

She only stayed a few more minutes, then she retired to see to Jane's comfort. Sally was back, rested and refreshed, so Miss Bingley had at least had the decency to allow her some ease after working all night. They agreed to split the night between them so neither of them would take ill themselves, with Sally taking the beginning of the night.

Miss Bingley did manage to recover her equilibrium and came to visit before retiring. Elizabeth was polite to the lady and did her best not to bait her. She might eventually be Jane's sister after all. Miss Bingley, for her part, was back to being polite, the card table conversation probably not forgotten, but at least not to be litigated that day.

Elizabeth began to suspect that Miss Bingley might have a tendre for Mr. Darcy, or at least for his position and fortune, so perhaps the lady was reevaluating her behavior considering his reactions during the day. It was unlikely, but stranger things had happened.

Elizabeth spent the last few minutes before finding her own rest thinking about what to do about Mr. Darcy. Her plan of avoiding him, ignoring him or driving him back to town seemed destined to fail. She really believed that it had been a good plan for any ordinary rich man, but Mr. Darcy appeared to be a touch on the stubborn side. They had met briefly in a few places during the day, and he was polite and deferential every time. Perhaps she could just keep him at arm's length, and they would never really have any conversation that could include either his sister or Ramsgate.

Yes, that was the solution. Arm's length… no substantive conversations. She could work with that.

* * *

Jane was slightly recovered in the morning but was still incapable of doing much more than taking some broth and tea and sleeping most of the day. Elizabeth broached the subject of going home, but Jane turned green and nearly made herself ill again at the very thought of even a half‑hour in the coach.

Mr. Bingley asked after Jane's health in the hallway near the breakfast parlor, as was proper, given that both ladies were ostensibly under his protection. Her replies had him offering to bring his physician from town, but Elizabeth assured him that was unnecessary, at least for the time being.

At breakfast, Mr. Darcy also asked after Jane's health very solicitously, and suggested that Mr. Bingley would be happy to get a physician if she thought it worthwhile. Once again, she demurred.

Miss Bingley inquired as well, and even managed to exude some sympathy.

* * *

By the evening, Jane seemed to be getting the better of her illness. She was feeling improved, coughing less and managed to take broth and gruel.

"Lizzy, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have you and Sally taking such good care of me."

"Oh pish, Jane. You know we could do nothing else."

Elizabeth thought it best not to mention that she also had ulterior motives.

Sally reached over and puffed one of Jane's pillows a bit, and added, "Miss Lizzy and I are right where we would choose to be, Miss Jane. I daresay your Mr. Bingley would heartily agree with us."

Jane turned somewhat red, which showed she now had several choices of skin color besides green, and demurred, "He is not _my_ Mr. Bingley."

Sally was not quite as decorous as the ladies, so she just snorted before replying.

"If he is not, he very soon shall be… so long as you do not go out of your way to hide your feelings… and watch your back around his sister."

Jane looked at her in concern.

"Hide my feelings, Sally? What do you mean?"

"Yes, hide your feelings. Do not be a simpleton, Miss Jane. Papa says it's always best to assume men are not as aware of our feelings as women are. I assure you of one thing though. The mistress of this house has taken your measure and knows exactly how you feel. The master may or may not. If you want more from him, you will have to help him along."

Jane looked aghast, sputtered a few times, and finally exclaimed, "Help him along! Help him along?"

Elizabeth, trying to either quell Jane's panic or put it to good use, felt compelled to add, "Charlotte is of the same opinion, Jane. I ask you, name me one woman aside from Aunt Gardiner as sensible as Sally or Charlotte, and you may ask them for advice. In lieu of that, I will defer to the best advisors we have at hand. Do not show _more_ than you feel, and certainly do not act indecorously; but your usual stone-face shows _less _than you feel. It might not be your best strategy in this case. I have no idea if Mr. Bingley is worth winning, but it would behoove you to show him a little bit of encouragement if you want to at least have a chance. Charlotte says, _there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement._ Just a little is all we ask."

Jane looked pensive, but also quite tired and confused, so Elizabeth and Sally helped her change into a clean nightrail, re‑braided her hair, and put her back to bed.

Once she slept, Elizabeth and Sally felt that she could be left on her own for a time. Just as the previous evening, Elizabeth thought it was proper rather than desirable to attend the others in the parlor, so she prepared herself and went down, ready to face the lions.


	12. The Parlor

When Elizabeth entered the room, cards did not appear to be the order as it had the previous evening. Mr. Darcy was sitting at a small desk writing a letter, Mr. Hurst was snoring on a sofa, and Miss Bingley seemed to be doing her best to annoy Mr. Darcy with constant chatter.

Elizabeth picked up the book she had not even had time to start the previous evening and tried to make a go of it but found the exercise nearly impossible. Miss Bingley seemed to be trying to make a study of fawning behavior. She commented almost endlessly on Mr. Darcy's writing skills, while disparaging his ability to mend his own pens. She talked extensively about some of her _elevated_ friends while denigrating the locals of whom she knew nothing except that they wasted less money on their clothing. She praised the evenness of his lines and diligence in correspondence, while asserting that it was an odious business at best. She boasted of the entertainments in town, not noticing that such talk made the gentleman cringe. She mentioned that Mr. Bingley did not have quite so many letters to write, neglecting to notice it was because Mr. Bingley was not really a landowner yet. It took all Elizabeth's willpower to restrain herself from picking up a pencil lying on the table with the books so she could use tally marks to keep track of how many ridiculous things Miss Bingley said after she ran out of fingers and toes.

Miss Bingley had a long discussion with her brother about how he should have an estate like Mr. Darcy's, which was obviously and in detail praised as the finest estate in the land. The fact that was four days journey from her beloved London seemed to have escaped the lady's notice. She complained about being in the country, and yet clearly was husband hunting even farther from where she wanted to spend her time. Perhaps she thought Mr. Darcy spent little time at his own estate, but that idea was nonsensical. While the gentleman could obviously afford to be away for months at a time, she saw a mountain of correspondence, and had no doubt he would be there at the very least for the planting and harvesting. Any sensible man would, and Mr. Darcy seemed much more a country gentleman than a town gentleman anyway. His hands had enough callouses to show that he was not afraid of a spade or axe. It was quite likely that when he did eventually take a wife, he would spend _more_ time at his estate, not less; but all Miss Bingley could see was his money and social position.

Looking around, Miss Bingley saw Elizabeth making a show of trying to read a book from the side table and decided to use that to gain the gentleman's attention.

_"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"_

_"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many generations."_

_"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books."_

_"I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these."_

Elizabeth smiled to herself at that assertion, though she was careful to keep her reaction hidden. To the uninitiated, it would sound like prideful boasting, and if she had not heard Mr. Darcy's abject apologies on two separate occasions, she would probably have thought that herself. Now, she saw it for what it was. He was a man who respected his ancestors. What sounded like boasting was simply showing respect for their accomplishments while thanking them for their diligence and good sense. As a daughter of a father who would leave her almost nothing except a headstrong personality, she could appreciate the sentiment. She loved her father wholeheartedly despite his faults, but it would not have hurt for Mr. Bennet to have left the girls with something besides their charms to bring to a marriage. Mr. Darcy apparently did not have to make such allowances.

While Elizabeth was thoughtful, Miss Bingley continued in a similar vein.

_"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."_

_"I wish it may."_

_"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."_

_"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."_

_"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."_

_"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation."_

Elizabeth was enjoying the dialogue, and for just a few moments forgot to be nervous about Mr. Darcy. He was apparently fighting for his life, and she felt like a woman sitting on the shore watching a man drown while she idly decided whether it was worthwhile to throw him the small log she was sitting on.

Her enjoyment was not to last though, as Miss Bingley abruptly changed to another tactic.

_"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"_

_"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller."_

_"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much_ as my dear Georgiana_. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite."_

All semblances of enjoyment left Elizabeth's countenance immediately, and she wanted to run screaming from the room in panic. _Georgiana __Darcy_, the ghost that had been haunting her for months was now standing in the room, and all doubt was removed. Elizabeth remembered her as a shy, frightened, huddling girl at least a head shorter than her. Now she realized that her mind had interpreted the girl's actions, demeanor and situation; not her person. Careful examination of her memory from Ramsgate, which was _not_ a comfortable thing to do by any stretch, reminded her she had to stand on her toes to kiss the young lady on the forehead before she sent her on her way. _Now all was confirmed._ Mr. Darcy was the lackadaisical brother, and Elizabeth was once again being firmly squeezed in the blacksmith's vise. Perhaps, as her father suggested, she should swoon for effect just to escape the room.

This whole line of thought taught her something important. _Mr. Darcy did not seem neglectful in any way she had been able to detect. _He was quite the opposite in fact. She had seen him at several tasks over the previous two days, and he seemed very diligent and careful. She could see it in how he organized his correspondence, how he wrote, how he seemed to think very carefully through each issue. She had seen him sorting his mail, carefully into piles and then apparently by priority. His personality was plain to see for anyone who cared to look, even in the relatively few hours Elizabeth had been downstairs. Mr. Darcy was _not the least bit lackadaisical._

The whole thing made no sense. It seemed that Miss Darcy _must_ have been a victim of a more complex and heinous plot than a simple indolent companion who was sloppy in her supervision. Mr. Darcy _could not have been that ineffective,_ so therefore, the only conclusion was that it was all an elaborate scheme to get Miss Darcy's dowry. It seemed likely that Miss Darcy was not the victim of a careless brother or indolent companion, but more likely the victim of a carefully thought out crime.

Perhaps the end Elizabeth had witnessed was not the original plan. Perhaps, Miss Darcy had come to her senses and tried to break off whatever was happening, and the scoundrel was set on forcing the issue. It seemed obvious that if you had the support of a crooked companion, the easiest path to riches was a seduction. Get a naïve and slightly wayward young girl eager for adventure to agree to elope to Scotland. Once her hand was over the anvil, the dowry was easily obtained without any inconvenient breaking of the law, and probably without ending up on the end of a bloody sword on the field on honor. No matter how loathsome the man, Mr. Darcy's hands were probably tied by his father's will, and he would never consider leaving his young sister a young widow or without a dowry, even if she would be better off with the man dead. The plot would have been pure evil, even if it had not descended into savagery at the end.

However, if the naïve young girl saw through the scheme, or lost her courage, then more direct means might be required, or perhaps the scoundrel just ran out of patience or panicked. His billfold had shown a nearly insurmountable level of debt, so he might have been running out of time. It was all so obvious! The revelation made Elizabeth want to jump up and scream, or empty her stomach or run from the room, but she simply sat in amazement at the depth of the plot. For the first time, her guilt and shame about the death of the mysterious 'GW' was reduced just a tiny bit, whilst her anger, which she had thought could not be stronger or more implacable increased to a boiling point. She wanted to kill him again but with considerably more suffering.

Elizabeth just barely managed to refrain from showing her emotions, while the rest of the party continued merrily on their conversation. She managed to keep herself from despair by imagining pushing a very much alive 'G.W.' off the seawall and listening to him scream all the way to the waves. That dream was enough to keep her neutral through the ordeal.

_"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."_

_"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"_

_"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."_

_"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."_

_"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley._

Elizabeth's curiosity momentarily overrode her caution, or perhaps she just wanted the discussion to center on _something-anything other than Georgiana Darcy. _One thing she was gradually learning was that Mr. Darcy said many things that sounded like they reeked of pride, when in fact, they were simply his attempt to tell the unvarnished truth as he saw it, or perhaps he was even showing a subtle sense of humor. He was not a very good prevaricator, but he did have a refined, restrained wit. She wondered if the gentleman was aware that she could detect it. Elizabeth could not quite resist the temptation to poke the bear.

_"Then, you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."_

_"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it."_

Now that she had said something, he looked at her, but it was a subtle look. Miss Bingley did not appear to notice it, as she was completely caught up in her own narrative.

_"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved."_

Much as she wanted to leave the room, or appear disinterested in the conversation, Elizabeth could not quite keep herself from listening carefully to what Mr. Darcy had to say. As disinterested as she was in him, this little play was just too entertaining. She tried to just watch Mr. Darcy from the corner of her eye, but they kept tracking farther and more often to his face, while the gentleman looked up from his letter and seemed to be thinking.

At long last, the gentleman finished his ruminations and replied.

"Miss Bingley, you list the typical accomplishments that are in fashion _right now_, but much as I respect them and the effort it takes to obtain them; I do not consider _any_ of those to be the mark of a truly accomplished woman. After all, fashions change upon the whims of the populace. Today it is painting tables, netting purses no lady of fashion would carry or playing one of the very few instruments considered suitable for a lady; which is the only item on your list that serves a real purpose. Tomorrow it will be firing porcelain dolls, making your own teapots, learning Chinese or painting live frogs in bright colors. None of those things last."

Elizabeth truly wanted to exit the conversation, but just could not help herself. She asked somewhat cheekily, "What lasts, Mr. Darcy?"

She regretted the outburst as soon as she spoke, as it gave the gentleman a ready excuse to look directly and intently at her, which she found extremely disconcerting. Mr. Bingley was following the conversation as well with his usual amiable countenance. He seemed to be enjoying it. Miss Bingley noticed the loss of what little attention she had managed to attract and was clearly unhappy with the shift.

Mr. Darcy looked at the pen in his hand, back at Elizabeth, down at the pen again, back at her again, cleared his throat and began.

"An accomplished lady must be an intelligent lady. She should improve her mind with extensive reading and knowledgeable conversation with a wide variety of people. If she is the mistress or daughter of an estate, she should know the tenants by name, should know where they live and in what conditions, should know their concerns. She should know what _she must do_ to make the lives of the tenants, tradespeople and townspeople that depend on the estate, more enjoyable and more prosperous to the benefit of all. She should play music well enough to give a family enjoyment on a quiet evening, as should a gentleman. If she is a mother, she should be well involved with her children, and not just depend on maids and governesses for everything. Mostly, she needs to be kind to everyone she meets, and treat everyone she knows with respect, from maid to tenant to peer. _That_ is my definition of an accomplished lady."

Elizabeth was stunned by the speech, and thoroughly disconcerted that the gentleman had completely overthrown every cherished bad impression she had been scrambling to maintain, while Miss Bingley, visible from the corner of her eye, looked like she was going to swoon (perhaps _not_ just for effect). In a desperate bid to say something before Miss Bingley said something crass, Elizabeth decided on impertinence.

_"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing __any__."_

_"Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?"_

For a moment, Elizabeth thought he was in fact being severe himself, but then she noticed a quirk of his mouth, barely discernable, and even then, only if you were watching carefully and had studied him intently as she had been doing for weeks. The man was subtle, very subtle, and he was showing an understated sense of humor that Elizabeth wished she could enjoy.

Not knowing exactly how to react, she decided to continue her impudence.

_"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united."_

Looking pensively, Mr. Darcy looked carefully at Elizabeth, and pushing the bounds of good manners to the absolute limit and beyond, he replied, "There is an obvious reason _you_ may not have _seen_ such a woman, Miss Elizabeth, but you know as well as I do that they do exist."

To that, she had nothing to say, so Mr. Darcy carried on with the most shocking topic to be discussed publicly.

"I may just be an overly sentimental young man, but my description comes from what I remember of my mother. I was a schoolboy of twelve years when she died, but that is as I remember her, so it can be done, though I do admit it is rarer than I would like."

Everyone in the room heard the words and reacted in their own way.

Mr. Hurst was already asleep, so he let out a bit of a snort.

Mrs. Hurst had thoroughly tied her wagon to her sister, so she looked to Miss Bingley for her reaction.

Mr. Bingley smiled even broader, and replied, "Well said, Darcy. Very well said, indeed. I could not have said it a quarter as well myself, but I find myself in complete agreement", and then seemed to tuck his chin into his chest in deep thought.

Caroline Bingley, in a sudden burst of understanding, decided that a marriageable man did not invoke such memories of his long lost and beloved mother unless he was describing his ideal of a partner for life, and she was absolutely horrified.

Elizabeth Bennet, in a sudden burst of understanding, decided that a marriageable man did not invoke such memories of his long lost and beloved mother unless he was describing his ideal of a partner for life, and she was absolutely horrified.


	13. The Park

_A/N: Hey Gang. Thank you for all the lovely reviews. I like to see all the guessing, although I will neither confirm nor deny how close they are. All I'll say is that we're a bit less than halfway through. I'll be picking up the pace from here on out. Wade_

* * *

On Saturday morning, Jane seemed to be recovering, though she was still not completely well. She had lost much of her pallor, and she was still sleeping after breakfast, but felt like she should be fine to attend the parlor later in the evening and return to Longbourn on Sunday after church. Sally had been released from her other duties to sit with Jane through the morning, so Elizabeth was nervous and bored. She was also deprived of a ready excuse for hiding in Jane's room.

She decided that she might just sneak out of the house for a quick walk around Netherfield's front lawn. She was still nervous about walking alone, but the twenty minutes she had spent walking from Meryton had not exposed her to anything more dangerous than a very apologetic Mr. Darcy, so she decided she should take her chances. She would not ask for a footman or maid, because she was convinced that she needed to become more self‑reliant and less afraid of shadows. She reckoned there was a very good chance she would have to leave her home sooner than later, and she needed to somehow restore some of the fire she had before Ramsgate.

Rationally, she was perfectly aware that many people had to deal with far worse fears every day, and they eventually either got over them or drove themselves mad with worry. Some would ruin themselves with drink or reckless behavior, but she did not believe herself susceptible to either. Some might blurt out the truth of their situation just to get it over with, especially if they had a trustworthy confessor or two like Charlotte or her father. However, she thought none of these ideas would work for her.

The main concern was just how long it would take her to regain her equilibrium. She had been making progress before the Netherfield party joined the neighborhood, and she thought she might do so again after they left. All she had to do was avoid any closer connection, as difficult as that seemed; or else decide she could trust Mr. Darcy with her life, as unlikely as that appeared.

It was with a bit of forced courage that she descended the stairs, obtained her pelisse, bonnet and gloves, and exited the front of the house, wondering if there would ever again in her life be a time when she was not afraid.

Naturally, the very first thing she encountered was a ruffian.

"Miss Elizabeth, good morning. How fares your sister?"

"Much better, Mr. Darcy. Thank you for asking."

Elizabeth had no idea why she thought she would be able to avoid the gentleman by forgetting about him. Like most people, she had some hope that thinking something would happen or not happen might affect the chances of the event occurring depending on how much you wanted it. Apparently, the technique did not work.

She wondered what to do now, but it turned out that the gentleman was not quite finished.

"I just returned from Longbourn, Miss Elizabeth. Your father beat me quite badly on the chessboard. Have you been able to hear his gloating from here?"

Elizabeth could not help herself… a giggle escaped from her lips, and a smile managed to stay on it momentarily. She had to admit that she enjoyed Mr. Darcy's sense of humor, though she was uncertain if anyone save her and Mr. Bennet knew about it.

"Mr. Darcy, my father does not _gloat_, sir… he simply celebrates his victories like any other five-year-old."

She had no idea why she would say something that sounded _so very much_ like flirting, but the deed was done now, and she was a touch ambiguous about whether she regretted it or not.

Mr. Darcy laughed openly, and then replied.

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth. He does er… like to celebrate his victories. I think he likes to have me in the neighborhood because he believes he can savor a higher percentage of triumphs than he enjoys against you."

"There is no glory in besting an inferior opponent, Mr. Darcy."

He laughed again, and surprisingly, for just a few moments, Elizabeth forgot her fears and just enjoyed the conversation. If it were any man but Mr. Darcy, she would be having the time of her life.

"Miss Elizabeth, are you for a walk? Would you object to some company?"

Elizabeth hesitated just long enough for him to notice.

"You need not fear I will be offended if you choose solitude. I frequently choose it myself, and I can assure you that I of all people will understand. The offer is open, but you need not feel bound by politeness to accept it."

This was the kind of thing Elizabeth just hated. He was just _so reasonable._ It made staying away from him all that much harder, and probably pointless as well.

"I do not mind the company, Mr. Darcy. I will not be long."

"Should I get a maid or a footman? There is a good path through the park that is mostly visible from the house, but I would not want you to be apprehensive."

The gesture was appreciated, but Elizabeth did not feel like dragging a hapless footman away from his duties, and something about breaking the solitude, even with the most discreet footman seemed like it would bother her.

"I believe propriety will be maintained well enough, Mr. Darcy. If you are not nervous about walking alone with me, I am not either."

With both parties not truly understanding how much intimacy they had just agreed to, they turned and started walking towards the wilderness. Mr. Darcy did not offer his arm thought his every instinct suggested he should, and Elizabeth was glad for it. She was still trying to work out how to keep him at arm's length, at least for a while, so she could work out how to deal with him over the long term. For the moment, she thought if she could forget his sister for a bit, and just walk through the Netherfield woods, she could be content.

Now that they were walking along in relative peace and harmony, Darcy did not feel the need to disturb the still skittish Miss Elizabeth with conversation. He was comfortable walking along in silence, and never quite understood people like either of the Bingleys who could not seem to abide the quietness of nature, so they filled every waking moment with chatter.

Mr. Bennet, in a surprising bit of candor for such a short acquaintance, had assured Darcy he had never met the _true_ Elizabeth Bennet. That lady, her father asserted, could fill any drawing room conversation with wit and laughter, or any quiet wilderness with a sense of stillness to match the idlest lizard. She could talk with anyone from cottager to prince with equal aplomb, and Darcy could see that was probably true, so long as none of those people in that range included himself. It was quite a mystery, and he hoped one day to work it out.

For the moment though, all he wanted to do was enjoy her company, so they both walked on in contemplative silence for a half‑mile into Netherfield's park, both thinking about the past and the twisted journey that had placed them on that path together at that time. Neither really noticed when they left the point where they could at least hypothetically be seen from the house, but since their exit from the lawn and the return would be quite public, neither thought anything worrying was likely to happen. At least, that is what they would have thought if they worked it through, but mostly they just did not think about it with the stillness of the woods to occupy them.

Despite walking together, both felt a sense of peace and quieting of any inner turmoil, and both had time for remembrances, both good and bad.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy had lived an odd combination of the best and the worst that life had to offer. He would have to sheepishly admit that he was fortunate to have more of the best, and less of the worst, than he was probably due, but that was just the vagaries of birth and fortune.

He had been left to run an enormous estate and raise a very young girl at the tender age of two and twenty. His father's untimely death five years after his mother and right after he finished an extra year at Cambridge gave the young man a very fast and hard lesson about just how much he did not know. His father had of course been teaching him about the estate since his childhood, but father and son had always assumed there was another good decade before any of it would have to be put into practice. The extra year at Cambridge studying subjects of great interest but no practical value was judged a character exercise, since he had plenty of time.

Upon his father's death, Darcy spent the year of his mourning learning just how many decisions had to be made by the master, and just how many people depended on those decisions being reasonably correct. He was learning that it was not only the people directly connected with the estate who were affected, but families in the nearby villages of Lambton and Kympton, and businesses in London and even outside of England.

He spent the second year of his mastery recovering from the death of old Mr. Wickham, the long‑time steward. Mr. Wickham's death, like his father's was unexpected, and Darcy was unprepared for it. When it happened, Darcy got a first‑hand look at how little the old steward had been writing down. So much was kept in his head that it took another year of riding the estate, talking to tenants and learning before he finally felt ready to hire another steward and relax a little bit.

His very early ascendancy to mastery of the estate had curtailed most of the time that his peers spent enjoying extended tours or the social life of London. Never a very social man himself, Darcy's natural reserve was magnified. Being the master of the biggest estate in the region intensified his isolation. His decision to send his sister to school increased his loneliness; and completely unbeknownst to him, it added to hers as well. The third year for both Darcys was mostly spent in frustrated isolation.

Georgiana Darcy spent those same years going to one of the best schools in England, but never quite felt that she fit in. Raised with no mother, a mostly indifferent father, a brother who was mostly away at school, and eventually nothing but a brother and cousin for guardians, had left her feeling left out and isolated. She was raised by nursery maids and governesses before her father's death, but never felt any attachment to any of them. In school, the daughters of peers thought her below them, and daughters of more modest estates considered her above. The number that she managed to make friends with turned out to be quite small. She thought that a more amiable or sensible person probably would have overcome those difficulties, but she never could.

Some rather nasty pranks by some of the older and more elevated girls early in her tenure left her bitter and distrustful, but she had no idea how to correct it. Her brother had no idea she was suffering in the first place, because she was unwilling to burden him; and she had no idea how she would begin even if she did.

By his twenty sixth year, Fitzwilliam Darcy eventually bowed to his aunt's nearly constant 'advice' and went to town to enjoy a full season, rather than the month or two he had sporadically spent there in the past. She said repeatedly that it was expected of him, and besides that, it was high time he either took a wife, or availed himself of some other entertainments until he was ready to do so. He was not getting any younger, and his duty to see to the next generation of Darcys would become critical before very long.

One season, a few dozen very uncomfortable social occasions, several hundred debutantes and matchmaking mothers, and four known attempted compromises (with one very nearly successful) left their mark. The only bright spot in this were his friendships with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam and his good friend Charles Bingley.

Simultaneously, Darcy, following his sister's timid and very cautiously worded request, removed her from school and hired a companion to further her education. Georgiana found the vivacious and energetic Mrs. Younge to be much more to her liking. She thought that she was not truly capable of the elder lady's larger than life self-confidence and assurance, but that she could gradually learn some of it. The discussions with her brother leading to her exit from school had broken down some of the barriers between the two, and she felt they knew each other just a bit more than they had.

Georgiana requested and was granted a holiday by the seaside. Several days in the library at Pemberley suggested Ramsgate as a good place, so she was off with her companion to see what life could offer. The siblings planned that he would come visit her after he finished some necessary business in town and at his estate, which was to keep him occupied through most of the summer.

The siblings wrote regularly, but a few weeks before he was scheduled to arrive, she wrote, asking if he might come a bit early to enjoy some time by the sea. He acceded to the request gladly, happy to escape the social swirl of London. On arriving, he found that the companion, while not being terrible, was not quite the companion his sister needed, so he replaced her with a more suitable older widow. He also found his sister had developed a slight obsession with manners and propriety but assumed that was just a normal part of growing up.

Georgiana came back from Ramsgate wishing to spend some time with relatives and hopefully forget all about her dismal experience, while her brother went to help his friend learn the rudiments of land ownership.

* * *

The quiet of the woods around Netherfield was a balm to Elizabeth's battered soul, and the quiet of her companion did him no disfavors either. She clearly remembered how, before Ramsgate, she had wandered the woods for hours, or hid under a tree or by a brook in a hidden glade with a book, feeling nothing but peace, contentment and solitude. There had been no fear of the woods, and she had to admit to herself, there had been no real shame in her life. Her mother and sisters were embarrassing, loud and coarse; but they were all mostly kind‑hearted about most things, and the family was entirely respectable. Her mother might seem a bit silly to a casual observer, but she had raised five daughters who were a bit high spirited, but on the better side of ordinary. There were no Bennets going back many generations who had been known to commit any sort of crime or be involved in any major scandal.

The previous months had ripped that serenity out from under her, and she did not know whether she hated the _fear_ she lived with constantly or the _shame_ worse. Would either ever really go away? On most days, the feeling of shame bothered her most, with the worst part being that she knew perfectly well her actions had been anything but shameful. A man was dead by her hand, and she could not reconcile it.

That morning though, in the well-tended woods of Netherfield Park, Elizabeth Bennet found that she enjoyed the quiet and stillness of being with Mr. Darcy. She wondered what his given name was. Given names for gentlemen were rarely used in company, so she had never heard anyone use it. The man had a sense of calmness that she very much appreciated. It was almost as things were before the guilt and the shame and the fear. Walking with the man was… peaceful and comforting.

With some thought, Elizabeth had to sheepishly admit to herself that she had heard the gentleman speak quite often, for someone she was ostensibly trying her best to avoid. Her _avoidance_ strategy seemed much more like _scrutiny_. She avoided interacting with him at social functions, but always found herself close enough to hear much of what he said.

In Elizabeth's opinion, nearly everything Mr. Darcy said after his first apology was intelligent and well thought out, or at least it was when he was talking to someone who could appreciate it. He talked quite easily on any number of topics with Charlotte, Mrs. Lucas, Mr. Bennet, Colonel Forster, Mr. Long and even Mr. Bingley. He had more trouble with meaningless chatter with those like Sir William or her younger sisters, but he did try. He was even able to have a quite intelligent conversation with her sister Mary about Fordyce of all things. The two worked themselves into a good discussion about literature that Elizabeth would have liked to join, but she found herself too timid to do so.

The lady was starting to become disturbingly comfortable in his presence, and just beginning to wonder how she was to deal with him, when they rounded a corner and found a moderate sized branch fallen over the path. It was not a mortal hazard, or anything she would not have jumped over with the greatest of ease on her own but, walking side by side it offered a sort of test. The most rudimentary sense of chivalry demanded that any gentleman walking next to any lady should offer his assistance, so Darcy did so without thought. The meanest mannered lady in the world would accept the offer in the spirit in which it was given, and so Elizabeth took his arm with hardly any more thought.

The _thinking_ did not come until both parties had carefully stepped over the offending branch, and then had to decide what to do _next_. They were both unsure of where to go or how to act. Elizabeth was the more nervous of the two, because she spent most of her time vacillating between liking the man and trying to avoid him. Darcy was not the least bit confused about what he wanted but was unsure of how to get it, and deathly afraid of making a fatal mistake.

Elizabeth resolved the unspoken impasse by squeezing his arm slightly harder than she normally would. After that, she thought it would be churlish to drop it, so she did not. They continued down the path for another twenty minutes, thankfully still in contented silence.

Things were not particularly awkward, but Darcy thought once again to try his hand at conversation.

"Miss Elizabeth, I apologize for not asking earlier, but is there anything I can do for your sister's comfort?"

Elizabeth laughed, and replied, "Do you start every conversation with an apology, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy grinned, and replied, "Only with you, Miss Elizabeth. I am not certain even Bingley ever heard a single one from me before the night of the assembly."

He wanted to bite his tongue with that reminder, and Elizabeth could see his face darken in remembered embarrassment.

"Mr. Darcy, might we just let the assembly go? I have already forgiven you. Perhaps my forgiveness was a touch churlish at first, but I would entirely forget the matter if you would not bring it up. I forgive you, Sir."

He sighed, and replied, "I have not quite forgiven myself."

Elizabeth squeezed his arm slightly harder, and replied, "It is time to do so, Mr. Darcy. I insist."

She had no idea why she was being so resolute, but it seemed the right thing to do. Much as she needed to distance herself from him, he was a gentleman carrying an unnecessary burden that she could lift with a few words.

"Very well, Miss Elizabeth. Shall we choose another subject, or do you prefer the silence?"

Left with such a choice, Elizabeth could not really decide which she really wanted, so replied, "You choose."

He chuckled a bit and asked, "Do you really beat your father routinely at chess?"

Elizabeth wondered about the man's peculiar relationship with her father, so asked, "You might need to define the word 'routinely' with more precision. Has he alluded to some particular prowess?"

"He has… but"

Elizabeth watched for a moment, and prompted, "but?"

"…but… I believe he occasionally professes opinions that are not his own."

Elizabeth had to laugh at that, which Darcy enjoyed very much. He loved the sound of her laughter, although she rarely let it loose in his company.

"Pray, what does he tell you, Sir? I warn you, I am unlikely to confirm or deny."

"He seems to think you are quite evenly matched, but you are an occasional reverse‑cheater, and that is all I will say."

Elizabeth smiled again and noted that they had made a complete circuit and were back to the same tree branch, but this time she still had hold of his arm. It was, she had to admit, comforting in a way. She still had no idea how she would survive her acquaintance with the man, but she did enjoy his company. She felt _safe_ walking with him, much as she had walking with her father when younger.

Elizabeth was ever so happy that men of his circle did not court women of hers, because if they were of similar social standing, he would be much more of a concern than he was. As it was, he was as likely to court her as a scullery maid, which filled her with a feeling of comfort. It was useful to know the lay of the land. Any sensible person would know they had no future, which was comforting, as it was very difficult to have a male _friend_ without marital expectations. They could of course never _discuss_ such a subject, but Elizabeth was confident they both understood the unwritten rules of the world well enough to be of a like mind.

They returned to Netherfield in good order, divested themselves of their outerwear and entered the parlor to find the rest of the inhabitants just sitting down to tea.

They must have been away from the house much longer than Elizabeth thought, because they found that Mrs. Bennet had visited to look in on Jane. The matriarch had only a short time before meeting another acquaintance in Hatfield, so she had not waited for Elizabeth to return, but merely looked in on Jane in some satisfaction. Elizabeth was astounded by the news and wondered just how long she had been wandering the woods with Mr. Darcy. It had seemed but a half‑hour, but it was not possible for her mother to have visited in such a short time.

Miss Bingley informed them that she had joined Mrs. Bennet when she looked in on Miss Bennet and found her somewhat better, but still exhausted. Elizabeth decided Jane could live without her for a half‑hour, and it would not hurt for her to be sociable.

The tea was of good quality, the biscuits excellent and the company enjoyable. Mr. Bingley as usual jumped around from subject to subject, and she found she was quite well entertained for the next hour.

Miss Bingley seemed to have reached an equilibrium with her and was turning out to be quite a pleasant companion when she wanted to be. Elizabeth had no idea if the lady was dissembling when she was being nice, whether she vacillated between different personalities, or whether she was playing some game. In the end, it did not matter because when the Bingley sisters were being pleasant, they were excellent company, and Elizabeth quite enjoyed her time with them. She really needed nothing more.

The gentlemen decided to indulge in billiards, and Miss Bingley shared a needlework project she was working on. Elizabeth had not the slightest difficulty praising the work. The stitching was excellent, and Elizabeth was happy to admit it was much better than hers. She even admitted that it was almost as good as Jane's. Miss Bingley described a difficult problem she was having with the work, and Elizabeth suggested Charlotte might be the best person in the neighborhood to assist her.

The next hour passed in quiet enjoyment, and Elizabeth stayed with the Bingley sisters until a maid came in to tell her that Jane was awake. She went to join her sister and spend the rest of the afternoon with her.

* * *

Elizabeth found Jane much better, and between them they decided it would be proper to return to Longbourn soon. Jane felt certain she would enjoy a full evening in the company of Mr. Bingley and his sisters whom she liked very much. Elizabeth made no attempt to move Jane from her opinion about the sisters. In the first place, it would not have been right to do so as Jane was a grown woman and would learn about them sooner or later on her own. In the second place, trying to convince Jane to look at anyone in an unfavorable light was a fool's errand, since it could not be done. In the third place, the past hours had shown her that the Bingley sisters had a good side, and it seemed likely that Jane could manage to capture more of the good and less of the bad, so Elizabeth thought she would leave them to work it out among themselves.

After an hour spent chatting together, they decided Jane would sleep until time to dress for dinner, then they would dine with the Netherfield party and enjoy the evening's entertainments. Elizabeth suspected that would amount to her distracting most of the party, while Jane and Mr. Bingley spent an hour or two in each other's company without any hints of impropriety.

Elizabeth had to sheepishly admit that, even though the entire thing was poorly done, in the end, for Jane at least, it had all worked out rather well. She would get to spend a few precious hours with her potential beau, and they would be home in time for dinner on Sunday. Perhaps Mrs. Bennet was cleverer than Elizabeth gave her credit for.


	14. The Dining Room

As planned, the ladies both managed to attend dinner on Saturday, and she was happy to see Jane talking quietly with Mr. Bingley. They would share conversation across the table about the commonplaces, and Mr. Darcy contributed his fair share, but they seemed to spend more time talking quietly to each other than the rest of the table. They were not oblivious enough to be considered impolite, but it was clear that neither of them was really giving the rest of the party even half of their attention.

Elizabeth was happy to see Jane was giving Mr. Bingley the full attention he deserved. Elizabeth wondered if perhaps her mother was right, and this interval might just be the trick to get them closer together. It sometimes pained her to think of her mother as a wise old sage, but in this case, it was entirely possible. Of course, she thought if it did turn out to be the case, it was just as likely to be Charlotte and Sally's agreement that Jane should show her feelings, more than the lady's presence in Netherfield. However, if their relationship did progress, Elizabeth would not complain about the methods. Mr. Bingley seemed a nice amiable gentleman, and the only concern Elizabeth might have about a match between the gentleman and her sister might be that they were both too nice. However, common sense said that there were worse problems a couple could have, and it was none of Elizabeth's business anyway.

Around halfway through the meal, Mr. Hurst surprised her by suddenly blurting out, "I see you are not quite so opposed to a ragout as you earlier asserted, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth looked down at her plate, which she had hardly paid any attention to. She was not exactly shocked to see the rich dish there, but she had been eating without paying too much attention, and if the gentleman had not mentioned it, she would have been unable five minutes later to recall what had been served.

"You mistake me, Mr. Hurst. I did not say that I did not like ragout… just that I generally prefer a plain dish."

She leaned over conspiratorially, and whispered, "May I tell you a shocking secret, sir?"

Mr. Hurst liked both the Bennet ladies. The eldest Miss Bennet was pretty, and quite possibly the least offensive person he had ever met. The second, was generally quite witty in the few conversations he had with her when Darcy was not about. He replied in kind, "I shall carry it to the grave, Miss Elizabeth."

"Our cook makes an atrocious ragout, Sir, but I do not have the courage to say it aloud to her. I generally prefer a plain dish because it is safer."

Hurst let out a burst of laughter, probably out of proportion to the jest, but he liked to get what he could when he could. He mostly had to amuse himself by needling Darcy, but never when the Miss Bennets were about.

"And cards, Miss Bennet. Are you as opposed to cards as my sister in law supposed?"

"No, Sir. I was simply taking pity on you. It is unladylike to gloat over an easy victory."

Hurst chuckled once again. He spent much of the rest of the meal conversing with Miss Elizabeth, and Darcy joined in as often as he could, and even the two Bingley sisters seemed to be in a better mood than usual.

The separation of the sexes left the gentlemen to their port and cigars, while the ladies tried their best to remain on cordial terms. Jane, of course, had no trouble conversing with the Bingley sisters, and Elizabeth had to wonder about the conundrum of the Bingley sisters. _Their powers of conversation were considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit._ When not in company with the men, and not feeling insecure, Elizabeth could see quite well why Jane liked the ladies. She liked them well enough herself when they were in a likable mood.

Unlike Elizabeth, Jane had never been subject to the more mean‑spirited side of what Elizabeth liked to call the _Superior Sisters_, and Elizabeth was in a bit of a quandary about whether she should give Jane fair warning or not. In the end, she decided it was pointless. Jane would find out about them on her own soon enough, and Elizabeth had her own problems to deal with… namely, a certain dark-haired gentleman that she had not the slightest idea what to do with.

* * *

The gentlemen soon joined them in the parlor. Mr. Bingley spend the first half hour making sure Jane was well comforted, moving her chair to the best spot, building up the fire, then moving the chair away when his fire exceeded his expectations, and twittering around her like a happy little bird. Elizabeth was quite amused by the entire display, and she was also exceedingly happy to see Jane seeming to make a bit more of an effort than she usually did.

With good looks, and a mother who trumpeted them to the world at every turn, Jane had learned to hide within herself. She usually found it best to treat everyone the same, regardless of how she felt about them. It worked well for the callow youths that had swarmed around her like bees when she first came out. It worked well for the gentlemen who were far too old for her and should have known better, but frequently did not. It worked well to keep petty jealousy and rivalries from building up among the ladies of her acquaintance, because all of them truly knew that Jane would give them the coat off her back on the slightest need.

The strategy worked quite well, _except_ when there was a true suitor about. When that happened, most men found they did not really have the courage to squeeze past what they saw as her indifference. There was a wide gap between acceptable behavior and what Jane usually practiced, so showing just a bit more emotion without showing too much was in fact something that Jane could do, and Elizabeth was happy to see her trying.

"They seem to get on well, do they not?"

Elizabeth jumped at the unexpected words, and the gentleman continued, "My apologies, Miss Elizabeth. I did not announce my presence. I did not mean to startle you."

Elizabeth just smiled at him and laughed. She wondered if she should go back for the pencil and try to make a tally of Mr. Darcy's apologies.

"No need to apologize, Mr. Darcy. I was just woolgathering."

The man smiled, and nodded, then looked back over towards Miss Bennet and Miss Bingley with a small smile still on his face.

"To answer your question, Mr. Darcy. I would never break a sister's confidence, but I believe they do in fact get on well. Whether it ever turns into more or less than that is far beyond my ability or desire to influence. I am just glad to see my sister well and happy."

Darcy looked at her slightly seriously and replied, "I am happy to see it myself, and I have no more need to meddle than you. I can tell you that Bingley and your sister have something in common besides their personalities."

Elizabeth was a bit concerned by the pensive look on the gentleman's face, and asked, "What might that be, Sir?"

"They both know what it is to be hunted for their looks."

Elizabeth gasped at the directness of the statement. She looked around to be sure nobody else was listening. She was not shocked by the assertion, nor was she distressed… but she was surprised that Mr. Darcy felt comfortable enough around her to voice such a sentiment.

She finally recovered her voice sufficient to reply, and said, "I believe you may be right, Mr. Darcy. I imagine time will tell."

"It usually does, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth wondered what to do next, but Mr. Darcy apparently had his own ideas.

"Miss Elizabeth, would you care for a game of chess?"

Elizabeth was once again surprised, but not particularly distressed. She was finding her tendency to worry about every single interaction with the gentleman was being reduced through exposure. It was becoming clear that he would say things that might be considered shocking in society at large, apparently because he trusted her to react well, but he would not really go farther. She was convinced of that. She still worried about how she would handle learning about his sister, if she ever did, but Georgiana Darcy was not here, and for the first time in some months, Elizabeth thought she could just forget about her for an hour or two.

"I would be delighted, Mr. Darcy. Let me just get a paper to keep track of wins and losses so I do not embarrass you."

Mr. Darcy laughed along with her and went over to take up the game. She won the draw for white, so made her opening move and commenced playing. Her father taught her that she had to play both the board and the opponent. There were entirely too many possible combinations to take every possible move into account, but you could make a good beginning by studying your opponent. Early in a competition, you had to play the board, but you had to gradually learn how your opponent thought. Pay too much or too little to the board or the opponent, and you would lose your way.

The game started out mild, as most did. Mr. Darcy turned out to be a cautious, thoughtful and defensive player. Elizabeth tended to be an aggressive risk‑taker. This was more of an advantage to her than it would be for a man, since her risks were reduced by most men not taking her seriously. Mr. Darcy probably would have fallen victim to her quickly, had he not been forewarned by her father. Elizabeth thought that should count as cheating, but she was not a whinger.

The first game ended after a half‑hour with a draw. Elizabeth won the second game surprisingly quickly with a daring move that the apparently plodding Sir William had taught her. She became a bit overconfident, and Mr. Darcy showed he could pull out a daring streak when the occasion demanded, and he defeated her just about an hour and a half after they had started. They were now tied, but by mutual consent, agreed that a rematch would have to be delayed.

Elizabeth went over to check on Jane. She found Jane happy, but fading quickly, and insisted that it was time for them to retire.

* * *

Morning found both ladies well refreshed, and they managed to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before church. Jane did not feel quite up to being in that much company, so she and Elizabeth decided to stay at Netherfield while their hosts attended services.

Upon their return, they asked Mr. Bingley if he would kindly convey them back to Longbourn. The gentleman looked like he would prefer to cut off a limb than agree to the plan, but he acquiesced.

They were nearing the bottom of the steps, and Miss Bingley curtsied and said, "Farewell, Miss Eliz… Miss Elizabeth."

The near miss with the name 'Eliza' left Miss Bingley embarrassed, a state that Elizabeth would have happily sworn was impossible the day before, so she took pity on her.

"Miss Bingley, might we call a truce?"

The lady looked at Elizabeth with her eyes crossed in perplexity, and asked, "A truce?"

Elizabeth sighed, and thought she may as well come clean.

"Miss Bingley, I feel I owe you a confession. On Thursday, I overheard much of your conversation in the parlor. I admit it left me feeling quite peevish, and I took it out on you. However, yesterday, your company was lovely and very enjoyable, so I know you can be amiable when you want to. Perhaps… well, perhaps…"

At that point, she mostly ran out of words, suffering from a bit of embarrassment herself.

Once again, Miss Bingley surprised her by replying, "I like your idea of a truce, Miss Elizabeth. Being at odds is doing neither of us any good."

Elizabeth looked at the lady and gave her a genuine smile. Perhaps, Miss Bingley was not quite what her first impressions had led her to believe. It would not be the first time she had been harmed by an incorrect first impression. Neither lady had made an actual apology, but Elizabeth thought they could both probably get along without it if they worked at it.

"I would like that, Miss Bingley. I would like it very much. Would you care to join us for dinner sometime during the week? My mother would love to have you, although you will have to endure quite an interrogation about your lace. My father is unlikely to even notice one or two more ladies at the table."

Miss Bingley gave a short laugh, and a true smile remained on her lips. It was not the carefully cultivated titter she was taught at the seminary, but a more girlish and possibly truer approximation of true humor.

"I would be delighted, Miss Elizabeth. Are you inviting just me, or the entire party?"

Elizabeth looked carefully at the lady, and said, "Just you and your sister this time. My mother will invite the entire party every day of the week if she can get away with it, but I believe Jane and I would enjoy some time with just your company, and perhaps you will find some of my sisters to your liking. Stranger things have happened."

Miss Bingley gave Elizabeth a smile, and replied, "Louisa and I will be happy to attend you. The gentlemen are dining with the officers again on Thursday. Will that suit?"

"We shall look forward to it."

The ladies curtsied, both quite surprised by the turn of events. Neither of them quite knew how the conversation had left their planned course of events so thoroughly, both were uncertain where it would lead, but both were also provisionally willing to try to establish a friendship of sorts.

Elizabeth thought, _'perhaps, there is more to Miss Bingley than meets the eye'_, and walked towards the awaiting coach just in time to see Mr. Bingley hand Jane in.

* * *

As Elizabeth approached the coach, Mr. Darcy came up beside her.

"Miss Elizabeth, I hope your sister is well recovered."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I believe she is. I should also thank you for making my stay here easier, Sir."

Darcy just chuckled, and replied, "It was my pleasure, Madam."

Elizabeth was just about to step in, but Mr. Darcy was not quite finished.

"Miss Elizabeth, if I am not prying too much, I noticed you speaking for some time with Miss Bingley."

Elizabeth could see that he was curious, but that was as close to prying as he was likely to get.

Elizabeth just laughed and replied, "I shall be happy to explain, Mr. Darcy. You see, we had two motives. The first is because we _are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss_. The second is because we _are conscious that our figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking_, so the stairs seemed a logical place to discuss them."

Elizabeth laughed along with the gentleman, and for a moment –for just the tiniest space of time– Elizabeth Bennet lived in a bubble of happiness that did not allow thoughts of Ramsgate or pain or fear to intrude. She was having a good laugh with a handsome and honorable man, her sister had recovered her health, she may have just made a new friend; and nothing could spoil it for a short while.

Mr. Darcy handed her up into the carriage, she tucked Jane's rug tightly around her, waved to all her friends, and returned to Longbourn.


	15. The Breakfast Room

At breakfast on Monday, Mr. Bennet told the rest of his family that his long‑estranged distant cousin, Mr. Collins, the heir presumptive to Longbourn, would be visiting at four o'clock. The patriarch could well have told everyone sooner, but most of his decisions were based on a thorough analysis of how much amusement he could derive from any encounter, and this one promised everything he could hope for. Elizabeth looked at him in disapproval as her mother went into misery of the acutest kind, but Mr. Bennet was not to be bothered by disapproving looks from his offspring, even Elizabeth.

Once the noise quieted down sufficiently, he read the letter from the said gentleman. Elizabeth thought the man must be very peculiar indeed, based on the way he wrote. He mentioned obscure words like 'olive branch' and 'amends', which moved Mrs. Bennet from the depths of despair to the heights of happiness, all without very much cause that Elizabeth could detect. She frankly thought her distant cousin sounded quite odd. She was however somewhat happy about the visit. Much like her father, she had a keen appreciation for the ridiculous, and Mr. Collins seemed like a good man to provide his fair share of it. Mary on the other hand thought his letter quite thoughtful and opined he might be an interesting addition to their lives.

_Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers; but Mrs. Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily._

Elizabeth could not quite make the gentleman out, but since she had entirely too much to think about with respect to the other gentlemen of her acquaintance, she could not truly pay very much attention to Mr. Collins.

For most of the afternoon, Mr. Collins seemed to vacillate between obsequious flattery, discussion of his noble patroness, and sizing up his future inheritance. Unlike the amusement she had been expecting, Elizabeth found the entire display aggravating and distasteful, and by the time they sat down for supper, she was just about ready to be entirely done with her cousin.

* * *

Mr. Collins was quite enamored with the beauty of his cousins and had even had a discussion with the mistress of the house about it, in a quite out of the way moment. Mrs. Bennet mentioned that Jane was quite likely to soon be engaged, but the remainder of the girls had no attachments she was aware of. Unknown to Elizabeth, her mother thought that she had probably just settled her second-eldest most suitably, and the lady of the house set out to make her plans complete – without of course bothering to tell the young lady about said plans.

Mr. Collins began his campaign at the dinner table, in between bouts of furiously shoveling food in his mouth in prodigious amounts. He was a heavyset man, and Elizabeth thought his chance of living long enough to take over the estate from her father, who never overindulged and was in the best of health, was about even at best. She felt some pity for whichever poor misguided or desperate creature might marry the man, though she knew a man with a good living would eventually find someone to take the bait.

Mr. Collins looked around the dining room and began with what Elizabeth could only describe as a mighty bout of pomposity.

"Mrs. Bennet, may I complement you on this room. I find the finish, the décor and the ambience very tasteful and stately. In fact, if I might be so bold as to suggest such a thing, it puts me in mind of one of the small breakfast room at Rosings, well much like the eastern-most example, for Lady Catherine has several well‑appointed breakfast rooms."

The lady of the house did not like that comparison in the least, and nearly sputtered, "Small breakfast room! Small breakfast room!"

Mr. Collins, not the most astute of men, could nonetheless see that he had erred badly and tried to correct.

"Please, Mrs. Bennet. I meant no offense, I can assure you. I must surely be at fault for failing to speak clearly, as Lady Catherine has many times expressed to me the need for clarity in all my dealings. The fact is, Mrs. Bennet, I meant it as a compliment. When you understand the grandeur of Rosings, which I would hope my fair cousin might soon experience, you will see that I was paying you the highest compliment possible. The smallest of rooms in Rosings, would compare with the grandest room in most estates."

Somewhat mollified, Mrs. Bennet replied, "Well, if you say it is grand… I…"

Not knowing where to go from there, Mrs. Bennet sputtered to a stop.

Mary apparently contained some curiosity about the odd little man, although Elizabeth could not detect if she acted from genuine interest or politeness when she asked, "You have mentioned Rosings many times today, Mr. Collins. Do you live close to it?"

That turned out to be an error in judgment, as Mr. Collins then began a long‑winded monologue on the stateliness and grandeur of Rosings, the agreeableness of his 'humble' parsonage and its proximity to the great estate. Elizabeth was surprised to find that she enjoyed the bombastic nature of his speech, for about a minute or two. After that, she found that there was really nothing new coming except more repetition of the grandeur of Rosings and the beneficence and condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that she just stopped listening and spent several minutes thinking about Mr. Darcy and wondering what she was to do about him.

She managed to draw her attention back to the table just in time to hear Mr. Collins finish enough of his soliloquy long enough to shovel some more food in his mouth.

"… … and I can assure you my fair cousins, that I have been reliably informed that the glazing alone on the windows cost in excess of £800!"

Elizabeth was astounded to see Mr. Collins stop just short of pounding the table with his fist as he delivered his coup de grace, but he instead picked up his fork to deliver more foot to his voracious appetite.

Elizabeth could not quite resist the temptation to ask, somewhat sweetly and innocently, "I am wondering if you could clarify for us, Mr. Collins. Are you saying that Lady Catherine… well, actually I mean Lady Catherine's dead husband's ancestors, if we are to be precise… were frivolous, ostentatious or naïve?"

Caught in the middle of a major ingestion of potatoes, Mr. Collins started sputtering and coughing loudly. Lydia, helpfully pounded his back a few times to help him get his equilibrium back, and then a few more just because one cannot be too careful with the health of the heir presumptive. Who knew what would happen if he died at their table the very first day.

Mr. Collins eventually stopped coughing enough to look askance at Elizabeth and ask, "What do you mean, cousin?"

Elizabeth replied, "Well sir, I am trying to work out the point you are trying to make. Based on your description, I would have to believe that £800 is quite a lot for a few windows. That must mean that either Rosings has an enormous number of windows or each window was quite expensive. If they are quite expensive, that must mean they are highly decorative, extremely high quality, or the ancestor was overcharged. I am just trying to work out your point, Sir."

Mr. Collins gave the answer least expected by anyone after an afternoon exposed to him. He sat in complete silence, completely flummoxed by the question, and finally just shook his head, pretended the question had never been spoken, and went back to eating.

Elizabeth and Mary smiled at themselves with a joke well played, and both enjoyed the first bit of peaceful silence they had experienced all afternoon… for about 3 minutes before Kitty and Lydia began a loud argument. They smiled once again at each other, both acknowledging that the world was back the way it should be once again.

After dessert was served and nearly consumed, Mr. Collins found himself once again ready to take the reins of the conversation.

"I was thinking I might read for an hour or two tonight. I brought my copy of Fordyce's Sermons. Are you familiar with Fordyce?"

Kitty and Lydia stared at each other in abject horror, before breaking into a fit of giggling, but at least they were reasonably quiet about it, for Bennets.

The surprising answer came from Mary.

"Mr. Collins, that is an interesting choice. I was once quite a disciple of Mr. Fordyce and read all his works with great vigor. However, though I do not claim any extensive wisdom, I have with age concluded that the gentleman is best suited to silly young girls with no sense whatsoever, which description I must sheepishly apply to myself a year or two ago. However, now I believe I may fairly assert that any lady who has outgrown her childish ways will be well placed to leave Fordyce behind and concentrate on worthier reading material."

For the first time in living memory, the Bennet table was entirely silent. A grain of rice falling off the table to the floor would have been notable, as nobody had the slightest idea that Mary had been sharpening her knives so thoroughly.

Mr. Collins stared at her as if she were a talking two headed goat, and Elizabeth tried her best to hold out longer than Kitty or Lydia before giggling.

Mr. Bennet sat enjoying the spectacle for as long as he could without laughing himself, and finally decided to forestall whatever Mr. Collins was likely to reply with.

"Well said, Mary. Mr. Collins, since your voice is your vocation, I applaud your designs on reading, but we will just have to select the appropriate material. What do you suggest, Mary?"

"It is not for me to say, Papa."

"Yes, my child, it is. I am still head of this household, and I believe you shall choose our entertainment for the evening. Think of it as a challenge. Can you think of something that Mr. Collins can read that will entertain the entire family?"

Mary looked struck by being put on the spot like that, so Elizabeth reached under the table and squeezed her hand in sympathy and support.

After thinking for about half a minute while the table waited in breathless anticipation, she jumped up and said, "I have it."

She ran from the room while everyone looked at the swinging door, only to see her return about a minute later.

Mary, somewhat breathless from running all the way to the library, said, "This is perfect. It is a new novel I borrowed from Charlotte. Even Lizzy has not seen it. _Sense and Sensibility by A Lady_. It has everything. It is the story of two sisters who… well, I shall not spoil it. Mr. Collins, your audience shall await you after the separation."

Elizabeth tried her best not to giggle, and mostly managed the feat with some effort. Mr. Bennet dragged a somewhat stunned looking Mr. Collins off to the library for some port, while the ladies retired to the parlor to await their orator.


	16. The West Parlor

The next two days for Elizabeth were what she would eventually consider the second and third most aggravating days of her life, and she had to dig all the way back to Ramsgate to find one to top them. Mr. Collins had all the staying power of a medicinal leech, with none of the healing properties. No matter where she went, or what she did, she found the man either beside her or hovering about. She would have thought that her assertion that spending £800 on windows was frivolous or naïve would have put the man off, but it was not to be.

By the time luncheon was finished on Thursday, she was seriously rethinking her desire to be polite and kind to everyone. She had already tried several tacks like she had applied to Miss Bingley at the card table, but unfortunately, Mr. Collins was so dense that he did not even comprehend the chastisement. She had even taken a few runs at Lady Catherine de Bourgh's judgment, but Mr. Collins simply 'corrected' her and carried on.

She was just about to scream when Hill announced the anticipated visitors.

"Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst"

Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst entered the room looking much like the haughty ladies of the Meryton assembly, until Elizabeth mouthed the word 'truce' where Caroline could see it. She was somewhat surprised when Miss Bingley broke into a smile and a laugh, and she wondered if the lady had been having it on with her.

Elizabeth had arranged for Charlotte to visit, and that lady arrived not five minutes later, so the group was able to expel Mr. Collins from their midst quite handily.

Miss Bingley asked, "Who is that…?", at which point she tapered off, trying to find the vocabulary to finish the sentence.

The Bennet ladies were quite happy to assist when necessary, so Lydia hopefully added, "Odd creature?"

"I was not planning to say that."

"But you _were_ thinking it?"

"Well, I admit it."

Both Bingley sisters burst into a fit of laughter that was as surprising as anything that had happened that week, and within a few minutes the ladies were discussing Mr. Collins with all the aplomb of a few gossipy old men with nothing better to do.

Tea was served and that occupied all the ladies for a quarter‑hour.

Miss Bingley finally asked, "Miss Lucas, Miss Elizabeth suggested you might help me with my needlework. I have a portion that is trying my patience to the limit."

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Bingley. You are aware of course that Eliza's needlework is so atrociously bad she has no right to even express an opinion?"

Caroline Bingley looked at Elizabeth and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Elizabeth smiled and acknowledged the hit, and simply nodded her permission to the lady.

Miss Bingley asked, "Do all of your friends call you 'Eliza'?"

Elizabeth smiled at the question, and replied, "Not really. Everyone in my family calls me 'Lizzy'. The only ones allowed to use 'Eliza' are the Lucas family and you."

Miss Bingley nearly choked on her tea at the inference, but suppressed it quickly and responded, "Well, I am happy to join their company. You are the only one that calls me 'Lina'."

Elizabeth had her own difficulties sputtering in her tea, and the ever‑helpful Lydia slapped her on the back a few times, though fortunately with less vigor than she had used on their hapless cousin.

Elizabeth wondered just how in the world this odd transformation in their relationship had come about but was not going to question her good fortune. Somehow, she had scratched below the prickly surface of Miss Caroline Bingley and found someone softer and altogether nicer inside. She thought it would probably be for the best if she learned to disregard first impressions altogether.

* * *

Caroline Bingley found herself in quite an odd position. All her life she had found that she had to fight tooth and nail for every morsel of acceptance. When she was young, her father was a none‑too‑prosperous tradesman who worked from dawn to dusk and then some. He rarely paid any real attention to his wife and son, and none at all to his daughters.

Mr. Bingley always lived in neighborhoods slightly better than he could truly afford, because he thought, correctly as it turned out, that to move up in the world, he had to claw his way up with his own hands. This always left his children in places where they were at the bottom of the local social order, being both poorer than their neighbors, and recent additions besides.

As the war with Napoleon raged on, Mr. Bingley found his niche in the sailcloth market, and through working himself to the bone day and night for years, had amassed a sizable fortune. With success though, came the constant need to move himself and his family up in the world. Like any reasonably successful man, he wanted his children and grandchildren to have a better life than he had, and his ultimate objective was to one day purchase an estate and become a landed gentleman.

Once he had the taste of success, he slowed down just long enough to notice that his little girls were not so little anymore, so he asked the men of his recent acquaintance how to see they were educated. The best school and seminary he could afford was selected, so his girls then went off to yet another place where acceptance of newcomers was rare, and never without extreme pain. Ladies higher up the social pecking order always wanted to keep their hands clean, so they would let a newcomer into the ranks, or at least pretend to, in exchange for certain 'favors'. Caroline became a bit of a master at the game, but always found true acceptance just outside of her grasp. She could never quite get away from the 'stench of trade' or the status of 'new money'.

After school, she followed her father's example, and tried to claw her way up to the higher circles. She in truth had no idea quite _why_ she wanted to do it, but because it was her father's dream, following it seemed the only way to somehow forge a connection to a father who had been absent more than present.

Meeting Mr. Darcy of Pemberley had shown her a way that she thought she could finally get what she had been hoping for all her life, and she set out to get it using the ruthless efficiency she had been taught at her father's (absent) knee and the best seminary he could afford.

Her brother's lease of an estate threw her into complete disarray. Suddenly, she was in a social circle where she could be at the top of the food chain with her father's wealth, but she was entirely too much of a big fish in a small pond. She could never be comfortable in Hertfordshire, because she could not see any way it could advance her as her father had desired. It was the one belief that she held in absolute conviction, and she set about with zeal to reverse the decision using every trick she had been taught.

Then came the thing that upset her more than anything she had ever encountered in her life. It would have been easy enough to laugh off and go on as before, just like all her other difficulties, but it was just too astounding… too difficult to understand… too unexpected. Caroline Bingley did not have the slightest idea what to do when she found that Elizabeth and Jane Bennet were genuinely kind to her, even after quite a lot of provocation. The ladies appeared to like her just fine, just the way she was, and expected nothing more from her than friendship. Yes, Elizabeth could deliver a blistering setdown without a single unkind word, but she had to admit it was well deserved, and Eliza had recanted not two days later.

Caroline Bingley did not have the vaguest idea how to reconcile their behavior with her understanding of the world.

* * *

A few hours into the afternoon, Charlotte had amazed both Bingley sisters with her superior skills at needlepoint, and then completely ruined the effect by showing them how easy it was to do. Of course, 'easy' was a relative term, the same stitch was trivial for Jane or Charlotte, but impossible for Elizabeth or Kitty. Mary and Lydia fell somewhere between the two extremes, and the Bingley sisters fell in with the most skilled of the Meryton ladies.

Near the end of an afternoon well spent, about an hour before time for them to change for dinner, Elizabeth suggested a walk in the garden. She was somewhat surprised that the only taker was Miss Bingley, but not disappointed. They had never taken any time to talk together after their unusual encounter on the steps of Netherfield, and this seemed a good opportunity.

As they walked out, Elizabeth noticed that Miss Bingley was not overly comfortable with silence, but did not quite know what to say, so she began.

"Miss Bingley, were you serious that you would like me to call you 'Lina'. It is an unusual diminutive, and I like it, but I would not want to make you uncomfortable."

Lina looked back at her, sighed and said, "Louisa used to call me that when we were children. I confess, I have not heard the name in many years, but it just seemed right at the time."

"So, Mrs. Hurst no longer uses it?"

"No, she and Charles call me 'Caroline'."

"Are you sure you do not mind."

"I am certain, Eliza."

Though in strict terms neither had given the other permission to drop the 'Miss', it was obvious that it would sound silly with those two nicknames.

They walked on in silence for some minutes, and Elizabeth noticed that Lina seemed to be getting accustomed to the silence, so she gave her some time to learn to enjoy it.

After a time, she asked, "Do you walk very much, Lina?"

"No, never. They taught us at seminary that it was unladylike. It would make us dirty, or brown and coarse like a field hand."

Eliza just laughed, and said, "You are giving up one of the best things in life, that is both free and readily available anywhere you go. I highly recommend it. Nobody worth knowing will care a whit if you are a bit dirty or tanned."

"Perhaps."

They walked on in silence some more, and Elizabeth asked her new friend about her life. It took nearly an hour of rambling the woods to get it all out, and the whole thing left Elizabeth feeling horrified. Say what you will about the manners and decorousness of the Bennets, but everyone in the family mostly loved each other most of the time, and all their neighbors knew and understood them. The Bingley's upbringing seemed to be carefully designed to create lonely and unhappy people, and Elizabeth felt some real sympathy for the heiress. No amount of money was going to assuage the hole in her heart, and unfortunately, Lina did not appear to have the vaguest idea how to address it. So much of her earlier behavior now made perfect sense.

Elizabeth wondered how far to push the relationship and decided to take a risk. Mr. Darcy had been willing to climb out on quite a few limbs in their association, so she thought maybe she could be just as brave.

"Lina, may I suggest an idea you will probably find peculiar?"

"Of course."

Caroline Bingley had never in her entire life become truly intimate with another human except her sister, and she was sometimes skeptical of her relationship with her sister as well.

"You may find this an odd statement, but in some ways, you and I are more or less equals."

Caroline Bingley was tempted to throw up her hands and argue the point but held her peace just to see what would happen.

Finally, she asked, "How so?"

"Well… There are many ways. For one, we are both just ordinary daughters, with everything we have being inherited. Neither of us have done anything of any real note on our own merits aside from working for the usual accomplishments. We are as our parents left us, would you agree?"

The idea of entertaining these painful thoughts was a new and not especially pleasant reality for Caroline, but she dutifully conceded that her friend might be right. She could not actually say it, but she did nod her head.

Elizabeth continued, "We were both raised to learn 'accomplishments'. You play better than I, and you are probably better at the modern languages. I have done more extensive reading and have a better mastery of ancient tongues. You have a seminary education, and I know all about the workings of an estate. These all seem to about even out."

Caroline thought about it a bit, and sheepishly nodded.

"There is also our standing. You are far richer than I, through no merit on your part or detriment on mine. I was born into the gentry through no merit of my own nor any deficit in you. Some members of society would consider me to be above you and some would consider you above me. I believe overall, our standing is just about equal."

This thought was exceedingly painful, and all the years of 'stench of trade' came rushing back to the lady all at once, but she blinked back the tears and said, "Yes, I suppose you are right. I never thought about it that way, but it does make a warped sort of sense. I really thought I was above you when I arrived, but I can see what you say has merit. I was opposed to my brother courting your sister at first, but if she is a gentlewoman, she would raise his status, not lower it. He might aspire to marry higher, but then he would have to overcome the roots of his fortune."

Elizabeth reached over and took the lady's arm, and replied, "I must confess, I thought you quite high on the instep when you arrived but find you very endearing at the moment."

Lina put her hand over Eliza's for and squeezed it for a moment, then they walked a few more minutes in silence, this time both less awkward, but still carrying a bit of tension.

Finally, Caroline asked, "That could not have been your last point, Eliza. You may as well get the rest of it out."

Elizabeth sighed, and replied, "There is one last place where we are absolutely equal. _Neither of us will ever be the Mistress of Pemberley._"

Caroline gasped and went to pull her arm away, but Elizabeth hung fast and added, "Please, Lina. I say this not to hurt you, but to _free you_!"

Lina stopped struggling and stood stock still, then stared at her companion and barked, "_Explain_!"

Elizabeth looked at her carefully, and said, "I believe you have ambition to become Mrs. Darcy. Have I misread the signs?"

Her friend sighed, and said, "No, you have not. Ever since he became mostly inseparable from my brother, I have been holding that hope, although the gentleman has given me scant encouragement… in fact, if I am honest, I would say he has given me the opposite."

Wondering how much pain the lady must have experienced, longing for something she thought she wanted so badly, but had no idea how to obtain, Elizabeth's heart went out to her.

"Lina, my aunt grew up five miles from his estate and wrote to me about him. The gentleman is nephew of an Earl on one side and a judge on the other. His mother was Lady Anne Fitzwilliam. He is master of the largest estate in Derbyshire, five times the size of Longbourn, and his family has held it for centuries. He can choose a wife from the first circles. A daughter of a peer is well within his grasp. Why would he choose a penniless daughter of a minor country squire with middling accomplishments, or a tradesman's daughter with no experience being mistress of an estate. He would have to fall in love beyond all reason to even entertain the idea of either of us for matrimony, and we both know that is extremely unlikely."

Lina replied, "Believe that if you like Eliza. You are absolutely correct about me, but I am not quite so convinced about you."

Eliza sighed, and said, "No, Lina, you misjudge the man. He is an honorable and true gentleman… perhaps the best I have ever known. He was abominably downright offensive to me the first night he was here, and it took a good verbal thrashing from your brother to bring him around. Since then, he has simply been making amends. He would never offer for me, and if he did, I would never accept."

Her friend gasped at that suggestion, and it was quite some time before she could speak again.

"You would decline? Truly! Decline?"

"Yes. I will not tell you all my reasons, but I do have them. I _can_ tell you that I would never fit into his world, and even if I could… well, let us just say I do not aspire to it."

"I do not understand."

Elizabeth sighed, and tried to get her muddled thoughts together.

"Let us say, and I am making no predictions here, that my sister and your brother make a go of it. That would be a good match. Your brother would gain a gently born wife, who is well trained in the responsibilities as mistress of an estate. There is more to know than you might think. Jane has the skills, and already knows all the Netherfield tenants. My sister would gain a good husband, and a secure future. Both are elevated by the marriage; would you not agree?"

Caroline had been adamantly opposed to the union, but when it was put that way, well…

"I can see your point, and it is correct. Perhaps my brother could do _better_ by marrying slightly higher into the gentry, but your sister would be a good match for him if they get on well."

She was as surprised by the words as Elizabeth was, so had to suffix it with, "… I think."

Elizabeth nodded, and carried on.

"Suppose I marry a blacksmith, butcher or small farmer?"

That required no thought at all.

"He would be elevated but it would do him no real good, as you probably lack some of the skills necessary for that life, and he would still be in the same station he was born to. You on the other hand would be degraded considerably, and your children and grandchildren would pay for it. You would never do that unless you were desperate."

"I agree. While there is nothing wrong with any of those occupations, and I do not look down on them, but neither would any of those be considered a good match for me. I could also argue that it would _not_ be a good match for the man either."

Both ladies nodded a few times, and then, Caroline took up the narrative.

"So, you think Mr. Darcy marrying you would be a degradation for him?"

"Yes… Well, perhaps not a degradation per se, but not a good match. I would imagine his sister must have an enormous dowry… maybe £30,000 or more. He will have to replace that, and a suitable wife could do so easily. More importantly though, a proper wife would have the connections a man of that station needs. Families pass wealth and influence down through the generations. Mr. Darcy received both from his parents, and he should do the same for his children."

"Aha!", Lina exclaimed, and asked, "But, let me ask you this. What if the gentleman does _not want_ connections and influence? What if he just wants a nice wife to keep his home and raise his children?"

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "I see your point, but he can have that, _and_ all the rest."

"Yes, yes, he can. But if he is such a powerful man, what if he _chooses_ to forego all that. Why could he _not_ choose one of us, just to demonstrate his power?"

Elizabeth laughed at that, but then grew more serious.

"Even if it were so, I would not want to spend my life believing I brought a great man down. It is not for me, to wonder about my worthiness. Would the passion at the beginning outweigh the niggling doubts that accumulate over the years? No, Lina, I know how it shall be. He will not offer, and I would not accept. Neither of us are fated to be Mrs. Darcy."

Both walked along in silence for some minutes, both disturbed by the assertion, but both feeling the beginning of something. Perhaps, as Eliza had asserted it was the beginning of freedom… or perhaps, it was just the start of a hungry stomach, since it was well past time to get back to Longbourn and dress for dinner.

* * *

Dinner went as well as could be expected. Caroline found a certain amount of pleasure in trying to get Mr. Collins to say ridiculous things, even though that was so easy it could not properly be called sport. She had lost quite a lot of the hard edge that had been observed in the first few weeks in the county, and the Bennets were finding that beneath the surface, there was a sense of humor just waiting to escape. Mr. Bennet especially enjoyed his interactions with the young lady, and vastly approved of their association. In fact, he enjoyed the young lady's company enough to forfeit the separation of sexes, so he could exchange his cousin's blathering for listening to his daughters' new friend play on the pianoforte. Jane could not have been happier.

Elizabeth, seeing the change in her new friend, started revising her opinion. She still thought it extremely unlikely that Mr. Darcy would choose either of them as a bride, but she began to think that if the gentleman chose Miss Bingley, it might not be quite the road to misery that she would have imagined. She thought that there was much more to Caroline Bingley than met the eye and was somewhat curious herself to see what could be found.

Quite unknown to her, Miss Bingley was beginning to question exactly what she had seen in the taciturn gentleman from Derbyshire in the first place. In her heart, she had already decided that she first needed to find her own place in the world, and not sit around waiting for a husband to make it for her. For the first time in her life, she felt a few links of the chains that bound her to her past breaking under the strain, and she could not wait to sweep the others aside.


	17. The Haberdashery

While the ladies of Longbourn spent their day with the ladies from Netherfield, Mr. Collins spent the day with Mr. Bennet, which caused the patriarch of the family to speak at the breakfast table the following morning.

"Girls… Mr. Collins… I believe a good walk into Meryton would be beneficial for all of you. What say you?"

Lydia and Kitty jumped up and down in their seats a bit more than a true lady would and agreed immediately to the scheme.

Mr. Collins on the other hand replied, "My dear, Mr. Bennet. I could not possibly abandon you for the entirety of the morning. It would be most ungentlemanly, and how else am I to learn the workings of the estate? My noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was most insistent that I become intimately familiar with all of the particulars of my future inheritance and…"

"No, Mr. Collins, fear not. We have plenty of time to learn the estate… some years in fact. Now it is time for you to learn something of the local village. They are not to be disdained if you are to ever take a place among them. Do you believe your Lady Catherine would recommend you visit the area and not even become familiar with the local terrain?"

"As you suggest, so shall I act, Sir. For as my benevolent patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh frequently informs me…"

"Yes, yes, Mr. Collins… I assure you a trip to the village is exactly what Lady Catherine would recommend."

"I thank you for your advice, Sir."

The elder ladies were not as enamored with the plan as their father, especially since they would be stuck with their cousin, but they dutifully arranged to meet Mr. Collins on the half‑hour.

When the appointed time came, the two youngest scampered off like a pair of squirrels and were nearly out of sight before Mr. Collins managed to get himself ready to commence walking. The three eldest ladies had quietly drawn straws upstairs. Mary drew the short straw, so Elizabeth took Jane's arm and set out for Meryton at a normal walking pace.

Mr. Collins followed behind walking beside Mary. He did offer his arm, but Mary avoided taking it through the simple expedient of pretending she did not see it. The first ten minutes were spent enduring a long‑winded soliloquy on the benefits of walking to one's good health. All the while, Mr. Collins started sweating, breathing hard and mopping his face with a none‑too‑clean handkerchief, thus forcing the pair to slow considerably. Jane eventually noticed the slow pace and slowed Elizabeth to await the pair. They entered Meryton some quarter hour after the youngest ladies.

As they came to a stop, Elizabeth asked, "Mary, where are you bound?"

"I will visit the circulating library, Lizzy. I believe they may have a new novel I have been waiting for. Would you care to join me Mr. Collins? We could work on improving your reading material."

The sweetness of the reply made it difficult for the man to take offense, and the sister of the woman that would be his helpmeet for the rest of his life was to be shown the greatest respect anyway, so the agreed to the scheme, and he turned to follow Mary towards the shop.

"Jane?"

"Mama wished me to look in at the butcher to discuss next week's order."

"Would you like assistance?"

"No, Lizzy. I can deal with it. I am no longer ill. You need not coddle me."

Elizabeth noticed a horse just walking into town, and with a smile, replied, "You are correct, Jane. I _do not_ need to coddle, since I have someone to delegate the disagreeable task to."

Jane followed her eyes, and Elizabeth watched her face light up at the sight.

Mr. Bingley smiled and waved, then said, "Good morning Miss Bennet… Miss Elizabeth. I was just going to Longbourn to inquire after your health."

Jane found herself momentarily tongue-tied, so Elizabeth replied, "As you can see, she is tolerable, Mr. Bingley. Perhaps you would not mind escorting her to the butcher, just in case."

The gentleman jumped from his horse expeditiously, and replied, "It would be my pleasure. And you, Miss Elizabeth. Are you in good health?"

"I am always in good health, Mr. Bingley. Thank you for asking."

"Darcy was going to join me, but an important bit of correspondence arrived just as we were leaving. He may be along any minute, or he may be gone for a month."

Elizabeth laughed, and replied, "Well, he is always welcome. I will be off the haberdashery. Thank you for looking after my sister, Sir."

Elizabeth walked down to the haberdashery, not because she had any need for anything, but just for something to do. Her entire list of requirements for an occupation for the morning consisted of _anything that avoided Mr. Collins._ The Haberdashery had a quiet corner that was essentially invisible from anyone who did not know the shop well, so even if the gentleman should stumble inside, he would never see her. _She was free at last._

* * *

After a half‑hour or so in the quiet and stillness of the haberdashery, Elizabeth found that she was not quite so ready to give up all human interaction and thought it might be proper to take a quick glance at the street to see where her sisters were.

Stepping out of the shop, what she saw made her blood run cold. Lydia and Kitty were engaged in what could not be termed anything short of the most shameless flirting with three officers, right in the middle of the lane. They were laughing and giggling way too boisterously for public display, and the rest of their manners seemed to have been thrown away entirely.

Elizabeth marched over towards them and arrived just in time to see something that horrified her even worse. Lydia had, sometime in the recent past, remade her dress with a _much_ lower bodice than was proper for anything other than a lightskirt, and there was a new officer she had never seen before staring right down at her with hungry eyes. Lydia had hidden it with a fichu before they left home and removed it sometime after they separated. Now, the new 'gentleman' practically had his nose buried in her sister's chest.

Elizabeth marched over to the pair, but before she could begin, Lydia laughed and said entirely too loudly.

"Oh Lizzy, there you are. Come and meet Lieutenant Willoughby. He has just joined the regiment, and is he not the handsomest officer you have ever seen?"

Not to be outdone, Kitty added, "And you remember Lieutenants Carter and Sanderson, Lizzy? Gentlemen, may I present my second eldest sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Mr. Willoughby was tall, and Elizabeth guessed might be considered handsome by some, but the amount of time it took him to pull his eyes from Lydia's décolletage to look at her, and the blank, hungry look on his face told the lady all she needed to know. To be truthful, he might have looked both handsome and harmless to her before Ramsgate, but here and now, with her sister practically throwing herself at him, he just reminded Elizabeth of 'GW' He even had the right last initial.

The 'gentleman' bowed deeply, and replied quite properly as it turned out, "An honor to meet you, Miss Bennet."

Lieutenants Carter and Sanderson looked harmless. Neither was more than a boy in regimentals, and neither looked any more dangerous than a week‑old puppy, so Elizabeth did not worry about them.

Mr. Willoughby though was an entirely different breed - a much nastier one. Perhaps, Elizabeth thought, she might be worrying about nothing, but the first vision that came to her mind was a picture of Georgiana Darcy laying on the ground at Ramsgate, but with Lydia's face and the regimentals on GW's body. It completely unnerved her to the point where her heart was pounding in her chest and it felt like someone was squeezing it in their fist.

Elizabeth tried to be polite. She tried her very best and gave it her utmost effort.

"Likewise, Lieutenant Willoughby."

The man stood up to his full height, puffed his chest out a bit, and looked down at her with what she thought was yet a hungrier look, like a wolf eyeing a group of lambs, trying to decide if he could mange more than a dozen for dinner.

Elizabeth took the look for about a quarter-minute, when she had enough. Without worrying overly much about politeness, she spoke.

"Gentlemen, we apologize from delaying you from your duties. My sisters and I have pressing business elsewhere, so we shall bid you good day."

Lydia let out a whine, and said, "But Lizzy, we just got here, and the officers tell us they have no required duties for the next hour."

Elizabeth tried to be calm, and said, "Perhaps they have no necessary duties, or mayhap they are just being polite. Whether they have urgent items to tend or not, _we do! Come with me, __Now__!_"

The last little bit of the exclamation was probably not anywhere near polite, but Elizabeth had just about endured all she could stand, and her patience was nonexistent. She could see Lydia working her way up to mouthing an excuse, so she raised her hand up to about waist level where she knew Lydia could see it and pinched her forefinger with her thumb until her hand felt like the tongs at the blacksmith shop. She squeezed until her hand turned white, hoping Lydia would get the message, which she finally did. The message was simple, '_come with me or I will grab your ear and drag you away'._ Elizabeth had literally done that a few times, but not for a while. Lydia wisely decided not to test her luck.

Not to be trifled with, Elizabeth curtsied and replied, "Gentlemen, we must bid you good day."

The officers walked away, and Elizabeth turned around and marched purposefully over to a small alleyway between the blacksmith shop and the White Horse Inn, just daring the girls to not follow.

* * *

When the ladies arrived in a place where they could not be overheard, Elizabeth rounded on Lydia with some venom, and asked, "Just what in the world was that unseemly display all about?"

Lydia did not like to be chastised, so replied, "La, Lizzy! You sound worse than Mary. We were in the middle of the lane, talking to handsome officers. What are you complaining about? We were being perfectly decorous."

She planted her feet and stared at her sister with an intimidating look that always worked with Jane and Mary and worked sometimes with Lizzy. This did not turn out to be one of those times.

Elizabeth, felt her heart racing just like it had just before she picked up the walking stick in Ramsgate, turned her eyes down at Lydia's entirely overexposed bosom, and said asked, "And is this the dress of a decorous young lady? Were you dressed like this when you left Longbourn? Should I ask Mr. Collins his opinion, or better yet, should I drag you into Father's study and ask his?"

Lydia, never one to give up without a fight, said, "Lizzy, if it were up to you, nobody would ever have any enjoyment in life at all. I used to think Mary was the most priggish person I know, but now I would take her over you any day."

Elizabeth, still seething asked, "Lydia… Kitty… What do you think happens to girls who act like that? What is your expected outcome? _Why do you think we have the rules of propriety in the first place?"_

Lydia was just as worked up, and she replied, "Just to make life dull and uninteresting, that is why. You have forgotten what it is like to enjoy yourself Lizzy,_ but I have not!_"

Kitty was too frightened to enter into the engagement, so she just stood mutely watching the sisters have it out.

Lydia, sensing some perceived weakness asked, "What gives you the right to control us, Lizzy. Answer me that. _Why should I listen to you__!"_

_"__**Because **__**I **__**have **_**_SEEN _****_it_****_, _****_LYDIA!_** _I saw it with my own eyes, right in front of me__."_

Though they were still well away from the street and probably safe, the conversation had gone well beyond the bounds of what should be discussed publicly, but two young ladies with their blood up were unlikely to moderate their tone. Elizabeth's reply had come out at nearly a shout without thinking, followed by just a whisper.

The shout had at least shut her sisters up, but she once again found her heart pounding in her chest and her breath coming in short gasps, while all over her body, she felt chills as if it was the middle of winter.

All she could see was all her fears coming true, right there in front of her eyes, in the lane of her own village. This was worse than the fear of being caught over Ramsgate. This felt like she was barely holding on by a thread from keeping the same thing from happening all over again, but this time being unable to save the victim. It had not gotten completely out of hand yet, but Elizabeth could well see the that it _could_, and well imagined that if she did not intervene, that it _would._

The shout had gotten the younger girl's attention. Elizabeth gave both girls an icy stare that chilled them to the bone and continued in almost a whisper.

_"I __**saw**__ it Lydia! I __saw__ it with my own eyes! A naïve young girl no older than you. She broke just one rule more than you were breaking right there, and __the whole course of her life changed in minutes__. I can assure you, the new path was no improvement. She was almost completely ruined, and only escaped it by the tiniest thread. __**That**__ is what will happen if you carry on as you are, Lydia. You too Kitty. That man you were cavorting with is a __hunter__. I have seen his like before. It is in his manner. He is eyeing you up as prey. You heard Colonel Forster. These men cannot afford wives, but they __can__ afford to ruin naïve girls wherever they go and make them take the consequences. Do you truly wish to end up shunned, or high in the belly, or with your entire family ruined?"_

For perhaps the first time in her memory, both of her sisters were struck entirely dumb. They stared at her open‑mouthed, unable to say anything, unable to even think.

Elizabeth was so caught up in reliving the pain, misery, shame, fear and heart-pounding excitement of Ramsgate, that for a good several minutes, she was entirely caught in her own inner world and completely oblivious to her companions.

Lydia was still stunned senseless, when Kitty some minutes later began timidly, "Is that what happened to you last summer, Lizzy?"

By this time, Elizabeth had started to shake, and she was also required to take her handkerchief to her eyes, and simply nodded.

Kitty continued, "Did you… did you… did you…"

She could not finish the thought, so Elizabeth finally took pity on her.

"Yes, Kitty. I helped her. I… I… I… _intervened_. It was awful… It was terrible… They were the worst moments of my life."

Lydia finally found her tongue, and asked, "Can you tell us, Lizzy?"

Finally getting a small bit of her wits back, Elizabeth replied, "No, Liddy I cannot… I cannot… I… just… cannot… You understand, I hope?"

The last was a bit of a forlorn hope, but Kitty surprised her.

"We understand Lizzy. If you told us, it would pain you and damage the girl's reputation… and maybe even yours."

Elizabeth stared at both girls, hard, until they both swallowed, and replied, "Worse than that, sisters. It could damage _yours_ as well. Just as you continuing as you have been could devastate me and the rest of your sisters. It is tremendously unfair, but it is the way of the world. Shame follows families. People believe one rotten apple spoils the whole barrel."

None of the sisters knew what to say, but Elizabeth finally came back to her senses.

"You both know you can never tell anyone this, I hope? _Not __anyone__. Not your friends. Not our parents. Not even Jane or Mary. _I should never have told you and would not have given any choice at all. Swear to me a vow of silence."

Both girls nodded in agreement, not certain they _could_ tell anyone

Elizabeth continued, "I will say this and then no more. Only the greatest stroke of good fortune saved that girl from her folly. Half a minute one way or the other and her entire life would be completely and irreparably ruined. I beg you… do not put yourselves in a position where I cannot save you."

Both younger ladies seemed to have finally listened, and Elizabeth looked at them carefully until she was certain they would not do anything stupid.

"Now, you need time to put yourselves together. You do understand I am doing this out of love, not out of malice."

"Of course, Lizzy."

"Go home. Talk amongst yourselves on the way home but be certain nobody overhears, and then put it behind you. When you get home, be _done_ with it. Put your fichu back on. Fix your dresses to be proper. Learn to tell the wolves from the sheep, but until you do, be sure you always act with decorum and always stick together. Always protect each other. A man worthy of the catching will be a man who respects your desire to act properly. Any man who wishes you to act improperly is not worth winning."

The girls nodded, Lydia pulled her fichu out of her reticule and put it on quickly, and then the girls turned and started back to Longbourn. Elizabeth could not stand the thought of having to discuss Ramsgate with them again, so she decided to stay behind and go check on Jane.


	18. The Lane

As the girls left, Elizabeth decided to go in search of Jane, but was pulled up short.

"Miss Elizabeth, I fear I owe you the biggest apology yet."

There, right at the foot of the alley not ten feet away stood Mr. Darcy, looking as handsome as ever, staring at the ground in apparent shame, while kicking the dirt with his boot, which was becoming quite scuffed. His valet was going to throw a fit. It was obvious he had overheard the conversation and was feeling guilty about it, but less obvious was why he did not just fade away to the end of the alley when he had the chance or walk in the back door of the White Horse.

"Mr. Darcy, I believe I can save us some time and consternation in future."

Surprised by the unexpected reply, Darcy fell back on reflex and asked, "How so, Miss Elizabeth?"

He was still staring at his boots, so Elizabeth just stared at him until he finally looked up to her eyes and kept his eyes on her face.

"Mr. Darcy, let us just stipulate that you are a true gentleman and will rarely if ever act in an ungentlemanlike manner. You have apologized a good half-dozen times to me, only one of which was required or deserved. Henceforth, unless you do something _far worse _than overhearing a conversation that I should have taken behind closed doors, I will neither expect nor accept apologies from you… particularly, as in this case, where you appear to be apologizing for _my behavior_."

The little outburst had the desired effect, and Mr. Darcy smiled, just slightly.

Elizabeth laughed a bit in reply, and for a minute or so they both just laughed at the predicament.

Finally, they both stopped, and Darcy said, "I app… well, I shall explain in lieu of an apology. I was sneaking out the back door of the White Horse to avoid someone I did not want to talk to. Not very gentlemanly, but effective. I saw you and your sisters and went to greet you but heard the beginning of your discussion with your sisters. I had seen a couple of soldiers following me a few yards behind. I saw the door starting to open, so I planted my foot under it to prevent their egress, which worked but left me in position to overhear. I could not think of a way to avoid it without further embarrassing you."

Elizabeth laughed again, and said, "I see. So, you are apologizing for protecting me from my own folly. Well, in that case, you are forgiven, Mr. Darcy… and this time, I mean it."

The gentleman laughed at that, and then asked, "I see you sent your sisters home, Miss Elizabeth. May I escort you to wherever you are going?"

Elizabeth had not really thought about what she would do once she was done with her younger sisters. In truth, Jane would have entirely forgotten her after the appearance of Mr. Bingley, and Mary was most likely busy with a spade burying Mr. Collins in the back garden, so she really had nowhere she needed to be.

"If you are at your leisure, you might escort me to Longbourn, Mr. Darcy."

The road to Longbourn was a mile, just a twenty-minute walk. It was public so there was no need to worry about propriety, but it had open fields on both sides, so they could be assured of some privacy, while still being perfectly visible to all.

Mr. Darcy extended his arm and very gallantly replied, "It would be my pleasure, Miss Elizabeth."

* * *

Elizabeth had not really thought about whether she would set tongues wagging in Meryton by walking publicly with Mr. Darcy, but she was certainly not going to be churlish enough to deny his arm. She took it with pleasure, and they set off for Longbourn.

"Mr. Darcy, if we go out the back and behind the feed store, we will avoid most of the town gossips, but it is public enough to not raise any alarms."

"I am not afraid of you, Miss Elizabeth. Behind the blacksmith, through the middle of the village, through the middle of your Aunt Philips' drawing room; you choose. No harm will come to us from a bit of tongue‑wagging."

Elizabeth thought that might be understating the case, but she decided she was not going to hide in the shadows anymore, so she led the gentleman back into the thoroughfare, and they walked on towards Longbourn.

Going through the village, the pair talked about all the commonplaces. Elizabeth introduced Mr. Darcy to a few people he had never met and sent word to her aunt about her plans in case Mary finished murdering Mr. Collins early and wondered where she was.

Once they left the village, Mr. Darcy turned the conversation.

"Miss Elizabeth, I should not have overheard you, but I did. I obviously will not pry into details… that would be ungentlemanly…"

Elizabeth just giggled.

"…but may I ask just one thing?"

Elizabeth just nodded, since it was impossible to talk to Mr. Darcy about _his sister_ without giving the girl away or driving Elizabeth mad. Through her inability to control her temper, she was having a conversation she should not be having at all with the last man in the world she should be having it with.

Finally, she decided a nod was insufficient, and replied, "You may ask anything you like, Mr. Darcy. You will not overstep."

She had no idea why she added that last little bit, or even how she knew it; but it was said, and she did not regret it… not entirely.

"About the young lady… I will not ask who she is, or where or when the event occurred, but I will ask this. Is she all right? Is there anything I could do to help her?"

_"Help her! Why?"_

Elizabeth was both surprised by the question and distressed about her inability to ask more decorously, but she just could not do any better and hoped the gentleman would not be offended.

"Because, Miss Elizabeth, I have the capability to do so, and I would choose to use it. That is part of what my father taught me. With great power comes great responsibility."

"Voltaire, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy sighed, and continued, "I cannot help everyone in the world, but I can help quite a few. I have a dozen or two living around Derbyshire, London and Kent under my protection because they found themselves in my circle and in trouble. There are at least another dozen helped by my father, and his father before him. It is mostly young ladies who have been taken advantage of, but sometimes young men who lost parents and have nowhere to go, plus the odd widow with no money. I do what I can, so if I can help this young lady, I will."

Elizabeth was astonished by the entire statement.

"I did not know it was common for property owners to do that, Mr. Darcy. I do happen to know my father intervened once or twice when I was younger, but I did not think others did."

"Many do, and many do not. My parents taught me to do my duty, and so I do it and a bit more."

"But you said you helped people in your circle. How does an unknown lady in …"

She managed to omit the word 'Ramsgate', just barely, and continued, "… come to be in your circle."

"Through you, of course."

"**Me!**"

Darcy looked at the lady, and in some consternation saw that he had somehow frightened her, although he had no idea how.

"Please, do not be alarmed, Miss Elizabeth. I mean no more nor less than that you are my friend, and if a lady was harmed in front of you, I would consider both of you in my circle of acquaintances. Please… be easy. In this case, I am only talking about my duty, though it is a duty I perform gladly. I cannot erase the experience, but I have the resources to ease her path if it will help."

Somewhat less alarmed, Elizabeth thought for a moment until her heart returned to somewhere near its normal beat and replied.

"I thank you for the offer, Mr. Darcy. I… I… I do not actually _know_ the young lady, but I know _of_ her. I believe she has a family that will see to her needs quite well, and as far as I know, she is unharmed. She will suffer nothing more than guilt and regret; and I believe she will grow out of those in time."

Darcy nodded, then asked gently, "And you, Miss Elizabeth. Are you unharmed?"

Elizabeth looked at the gentleman carefully and answered with even more caution.

"I am well, Mr. Darcy."

"But not unharmed."

The simplicity of the statement brought the beginnings of another tear to Elizabeth's eyes, but she did not let them fall.

"Not unharmed, Sir… no… but… but… I am well."

Darcy decided that he may as well use the opportunity to push his luck once again, since it seemed to work in the past.

"Is that where you sustained your injuries last Summer, Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth gasped, and asked, "How do you know about that?"

"Your father told me."

"You seem to be becoming more intimate with my father than I am, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy looked at her carefully again, then stopped walking so he could face her and speak clearly.

"Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth. I like your father. I lost mine when I was not much older than you are now, and my mother when I was twelve. I find Mr. Bennet's company enjoyable and his advice thoughtful."

"I imagine."

Darcy looked carefully at her face before replying.

"However, Miss Elizabeth, I would be remiss if I was not completely honest. Your father told me that the first time I met him, the day of that first apology over the chessboard, while you were still hiding from me."

Elizabeth just stared back, wondering what form of madness had overtaken her normally sensible father.

Darcy continued, "I do not believe he is aware of the… er…. incident you discussed with your sisters. He only knows about the injuries, and I do not believe anyone in Meryton knows about any of it."

"So, the people that know are my aunt and uncle, my father and you?"

"Apparently… and perhaps the young lady."

Elizabeth looked perplexed, and finally replied, "I do not understand him, but thank you for telling me."

Wanting to be done with the awkward conversation, Elizabeth took his arm again and pointed him back down the road. Once they walked a dozen steps in silence, she said, "I will not even ask if you will keep my confidence, Mr. Darcy."

He just chuckled and felt the world tilt on its axis just a bit.

* * *

For the next quarter hour, the pair moved their discussion from the difficult topics to easier ones. Strategies for chess and whist were discussed but not exhausted, as well as a short discussion about pigs and sheep of all things. Out of habit, Elizabeth turned them off the road into a small wilderness. She was so involved in the discussion, that she was entirely oblivious to where she was going until she looked around with a gasp.

"Miss Elizabeth, are you all right?"

Elizabeth just chuckled a bit, and replied, "Do you see that stump, Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes"

"I sat on that stump, cursing your horse for hours the first day you came to apologize after the assembly."

Darcy could not resist such easy bait, so he jumped over to the stump and sat down.

"I can see why you would curse my horse. It is nowhere near as comfortable as this stump."

Elizabeth had to laugh. She had been correct. Mr. Darcy had a subtle sense of humor that she found she quite enjoyed. Surprising herself, she sat down on the stump beside him.

They sat in contemplative silence for some time, both cognizant that they really should not be there alone together, but neither truly ready to rejoin the world. Elizabeth knew nobody would find them, since nobody ever had. Darcy assumed she knew what she was doing, so he did not worry either. What was the worst that could happen if they were observed?

"Miss Elizabeth, did you know Bingley is planning to hold a ball at Netherfield?"

"No! When?"

"The 26th of November."

Elizabeth found herself with a bit of a strange feeling. She felt both safe and perilously exposed at the same time sitting there with Mr. Darcy. She had no fear from the gentleman, nor did she believe he would allow her to come to any harm that he could prevent… but she still had to guard her secret. She had come perilously close to disclosing it earlier that day, and with a sinking feeling, thought its disclosure would be inevitable if she spent much more time with him. She knew that he would take it to the grave even if it was exposed, but then they would both be thinking about it for quite some time. It was a hard thing to let go of, and she saw no profit in having three people trying to get past the incident instead of two. What would be gained by that?

While she was lost in thought, Darcy asked very quietly and somewhat shyly, "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of dancing the first set with me?"

Elizabeth was completely taken aback by the request. She _should not_ have been surprised, but she _was_. She had worked so hard to make the idea firmly fixed in her mind that Mr. Darcy was an indifferent acquaintance, that the idea he might ask her for the _first set _had never even occurred to her.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Darcy."

She tried once again to regret the acceptance that had come out without any conscious thought but could not quite muster the energy to do so.

"In fact, Mr. Darcy. Not that I would disdain _tempting you _to dance anytime, but that specific dance will be quite convenient. You see, my father's cousin is visiting. He is the heir presumptive to Longbourn, as it is entailed on heirs male. He is an odd man, always blathering at great length about his '_noble patroness'_, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I believe he will probably try to dance the first with one of us, and I expect it to be a painful experience."

Darcy looked shocked, and said, "Moderately tall, balding, heavy looking?"

Elizabeth's eyes rose, and she said, "Yes, have you seen him?"

Darcy chuckled and replied, "Not in Hertfordshire, but in Kent. You see, Lady Catherine is my aunt… my mother's sister. If your cousin is her parson, then he is…"

At that, he decided if he was going to uphold the standard of gentlemanlike behavior that Miss Elizabeth had attributed to him in Meryton, he should stop talking.

Elizabeth, under no such scruples, helpfully filled in, "Odd, awkward, verbose, nonsensical."

Darcy laughed, and said, "Yes, all my aunt's parsons are like that. She prefers it that way."

Elizabeth giggled a bit at that, but then said, "He has been clinging to me like a leech these days. I just know he will ask for the first set, and it is such a relief to be able to deny him."

Darcy laughed, and said, "So I am in improvement over your cousin?"

Elizabeth laughed, and replied, "Well, no, but you did ask first."

They both laughed together a bit, then Darcy asked, "How about if we protect you for the first couple of hours at least. Will you accept Hurst for the second, and Bingley for the third?"

"Do you arrange all those gentlemen's dances?"

"No, but they will be happy to oblige. You have seen Bingley, and Hurst is quite a good dancer if you catch him before the fourth set."

"Well then sir, I shall consider my first three sets taken… and I thank you."

Darcy looked a bit sheepish, but finally added something even more surprising.

"One more thing, Miss Elizabeth. This is more an offer than a request. I would like to offer you the opportunity to dance the supper with me if you ask, or any dance after supper. I know it is not protocol, but I will make the offer just in case you wish to escape any disagreeable partner. Allow me to be of service."

Elizabeth was quite taken aback by the offer.

"Supper would set tongues wagging, Mr. Darcy."

"I understand. That is why I am not asking, I am offering. It would not do to require you to refuse the dance, but I want you to have the option. I would also be happy to sit out any set with you if you choose."

"Why?"

She regretted the question almost as soon as it was said.

His answer was quite surprising.

"Are we friends, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Yes, of course."

That answer surprised her more than anything else that had been said.

"That is what friends do, Miss Elizabeth. They enjoy each other's company, and they help each other out."

Feeling reckless, Elizabeth stuck her hand out to the gentleman, and said, "Friends?"

Mr. Darcy took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought her hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and replied, "Friends."

* * *

_A/N: While technically the power and responsibility quote is from Voltaire and in the right timeframe, I actually lifted it from Uncle Ben in Spiderman ;)_


	19. The Entryway

Mary tried her best, she really did. She gave it her all, but after four days of rain, her 'all' may not have been quite what it should have been.

In an experiment to see if she could use subtle influence on a man who lacked subtlety, she worked on convincing Mr. Collins that he really had no need to attend the Netherfield ball, and all she got for her efforts was a request for a set. Mary could not work out a polite way to say 'no', so debated for a full minute. He had left the question open-ended, so she wisely said, "Yes, Mr. Collins. You may have the second to last set."

With any luck, the man would have choked in his wine or fallen asleep long before that.

Immediately after the abysmal failure of her plan, she wondered at the oddness of Mr. Collins asking her for a set without being specific. She hoped that it meant he did not think of her in 'that way', which would be a blessed relief. It also meant that he had some other victim in mind for the first, which was certain to spell trouble. It turned out that trouble was just walking into the parlor right at that very moment.

"Miss Elizabeth, I have just been informed that Mr. Bingley in an act of great condescension has allowed me the pleasure of attending his ball on Thursday. It is with the greatest humility and expectation of pleasure that I humbly request the honor of the first set."

The gentleman was supremely confident of a successful effort. He was after all a gentleman with a very good position, and his attention to the young lady could hardly have been mistaken. Mr. Bingley had only delivered the invitation to the ball less than an hour previously, so he would obviously be the first to ask. He waited in breathless anticipation.

Mary watched Elizabeth carefully for signs of distress and was quite befuddled to see none. Wondering how Elizabeth was keeping her composure, she listened carefully to the reply.

"The first set with whom, Mr. Collins?"

Mary stifled the giggle that bubbled up in her throat… just barely, while Mr. Collins looked quite befuddled.

Finally, Mr. Collins regained his usual level of wit and replied, "With you, of course."

Elizabeth looked at him with a look Mary could not interpret, and replied, "I have already granted the first set, Mr. Collins."

Elizabeth did not elaborate, but the gentleman was undaunted.

"Well, since I am your cousin and quite possibly… well, let me say no more on that subject. Might the gentleman yield the set to me?"

Elizabeth looked at him with a less ambiguous air. Mary had seen her use the same expression before killing a cockroach.

Elizabeth replied with some real exasperation, _"Why on earth would the gentleman do such a thing, even if I was to ask him, which I assure you I will not."_

Mr. Collins was taken aback by the vehemence of the reply, so he decided to take another tack.

"Might I know the gentleman's name, Cousin?"

"_No, you most certainly may not! Truly, Mr. Collins. You astound me!"_

Mary saw Elizabeth getting frustrated and tried to decide whether to pity her or be amused. There was sisterly camaraderie to be considered, but on the other hand, Elizabeth _had_ abandoned her on that walk into Meryton and deserved some minor retribution. For the moment, Elizabeth seemed to be doing fine on her own, so amusement won out. She set out to observe the conversation closely so she could later relay it to her father and Charlotte Lucas.

Mr. Collins, showing his usual amount of subtlety, did not even notice the rising pitch of the lady's voice, and blithely carried on.

"Well then, perhaps the second?"

"That has been granted as well, Mr. Collins."

Mr. Collins looked completely flummoxed, and cringing slightly, asked, "The third set, then?"

Elizabeth nonchalantly replied, "That set is already spoken for as well, Mr. Collins. Let us skip to the end of this conversation so Mary and I may discuss a few private matters that await us. You may have the fourth set, Mr. Collins."

Not to be intimidated, Mr. Collins replied, "Perhaps the supper set, Miss Elizabeth. That would allow us to sup together and become better acquainted."

Elizabeth had experienced just about as much amusement as she was likely to get, so she replied somewhat sharply, "Mr. Collins, your application is extraordinary. You asked for a set, and I have granted it. This discussion is over."

Sputtering, Mr. Collins replied, "But… but… but… May I ask who you are dancing the supper set with?"

Elizabeth gave up all pretense at politeness, and replied, "Mr. Collins, remind me again who your patroness is?"

Mr. Collins sputtered, "How can you not remember? I have mentioned her many-many times, and you may soon meet her yourself. She is the noble Lady Catherine de Bourgh, upon whose condescension…"

Elizabeth, apparently out of patience, just cut him off.

"Now I remember. Mr. Collins. I will ask you to write down her direction for me and I shall write her directly. She seems fond of delivering instruction, so I will ask her to teach you the rudiments of basic propriety and manners. _My dance card is my business, Sir._ Your intrusions on my personal business is quite indecorous, and I doubt the lady would approve. I hope she can instruct you, as I seem quite incapable."

Leaving a sputtering Mr. Collins behind, Elizabeth, feeling not the slightest guilt, took Mary's arm to leave the room for their entirely imaginary secret affairs.

* * *

"Papa, how are we to transport six ladies and two gentlemen to the ball. Shall we take two trips?"

Elizabeth was more than a little bit interested in the question. Four days of rain had left the roads in less than admirable condition, and the ladies of the house nearly mad with boredom and frustration with the oddities of their cousin, whose amusement had long been worn out. Longbourn had been a madhouse all day, and it presently seemed unlikely that all or even most of the ladies would be ready on time for two trips in the carriage before the first set.

Elizabeth was determined beyond all reason that she would _not be late_, though still quite unwilling to acknowledge that the first set of the evening was the only thing she was truly looking forward to.

Her father looked up from his book, not the least bit perturbed. It was not the first ball he had attended with six ladies, nor would it be the last. He had plenty of time.

"Well Lizzy, are you so worried about propriety that you want to absolutely assure punctuality?"

Elizabeth had the good grace to blush, which told her father all he needed to know… not that the story of Mr. Collins's proposal had not told him all of that already. There was only one way that his daughter could have three sets secured before Mr. Bingley arrived with the invitations. Darcy had been a busy man. In fact, the man seemed to be playing a good game, for someone started out _already down a queen and two bishops._

Elizabeth finally replied, "It would be bad manners to arrive late, Papa… and Jane would do something insane and thoroughly out of character if she missed opening with Mr. Bingley."

"Oh, you think she might frown."

"No Papa, nothing so mild as that. I believe she might actually _stamp her foot_."

The gentleman laughed aloud, quite amused by the whole incident, but also ready to try to finish a chapter in his book before the experience commenced. He expected diverting folly aplenty during the evening, but there was no point in rushing it.

"Well Lizzy, set your mind at ease. Mr. Darcy observed our logistical difficulties and is sending his carriage for you, Mary, Jane and I. Your mother will bring the other two and Mr. Collins."

Elizabeth smiled at the ease of the solution and yet another sign that Mr. Darcy was a thoughtful gentleman, while simultaneously rapping her father in the knuckles with her fan for putting her through the whole ordeal. Then with a tinkling laugh that Mr. Bennet had not heard nearly enough of since the summer, she skipped out of the room to gather up Jane and Mary. It would not do to be late. That would obviously be tremendously unfair to Jane!

* * *

The arrival at Netherfield seemed magical. Mr. Darcy's carriage was of the finest quality, and the ride the best she had ever experienced. Traveling with the three quietest inhabitants of Longbourn added to the pleasure of the short journey. The coachman and footmen were both amiable and skillful in their execution. All in all, it was the best three miles by coach Elizabeth had ever experienced. The front of the Netherfield estate was lit up with torches everywhere, including on the drive. Lina had thoughtfully put canvas out to the drive to insure dresses and shoes stayed clean. The attendants were all dressed in bright livery, and she even saw Sally Cobb in what appeared to be a new dress waving as she walked by on the porch carrying a picture.

They were in fact somewhat early and stepped quickly through the receiving line. Elizabeth was happy to see Mr. Bingley could hardly keep his eyes off Jane. Mr. Darcy was a guest so not required to endure the torture of the line, but he was there anyway. Elizabeth curtsied and smiled brightly at the gentleman, spoke a few of the usual pleasantries, and then moved down the line to stand in front of Miss Bingley.

"Liza, you look wonderful."

Elizabeth had been wondering exactly how Miss Bingley would treat her after their heartfelt conversation at Longbourn. it was too soon to tell exactly, but Elizabeth though they were well on their way to being close friends. She thought the fact that Lina had, perhaps unconsciously, shortened her name even more bode very well for their future closeness.

"Lina, the décor is breathtaking. You have done wonders! I have never seen the like, even in Town."

Caroline Bingley smiled as if that was the first genuinely nice thing anybody had ever said to her in her life. Elizabeth thought that based on her life history, it may well have been true. Miss Bingley had received many compliments before, but nothing with the feel of such authenticity.

"Let me show you! Mr. Darcy, you can manage on your own, I presume."

Without waiting for a reply, she took Liza's arm and dragged her bodily away from the receiving line, and made a wide circumnavigation of the ballroom, pointing out different decorations and features of the room as she went.

"You installed new draperies?"

"Yes, do you like them?"

"Very much so. The color is gorgeous, and I must know the fabric."

Lina blushed, and said, "I must confess, I played a little game when I selected them."

"Oh, do tell."

Caroline looked around to be sure they were alone, and whispered, "I pretended to be your sister, and then picked what I thought she would."

Elizabeth laughed heartily, and said, "You did wonderfully. Lydia will be quite impressed."

Laughing together in a mostly (well almost) decorous manner, the two ladies moved on to the next interesting bauble.

Elizabeth was fascinated by some of the items and interested in all. It took at least a quarter hour just to make it around the ballroom, as Elizabeth had questions at nearly every turn. Everything from the length and makeup of the candles to what was in the punch and white soup was of interest.

At long last they made it back to the receiving line, and a crush of visitors was starting to appear, so Miss Bingley indicated she would need to get back to her duties.

Before she left, Elizabeth replied, "It is all wonderful, Lina. You have a flair for this."

Caroline nodded shyly, and replied, "All it takes is money, Liza."

Elizabeth laughed, and replied, "No more fishing for compliments. You know if you have money but no taste you get vulgarity. Money _with_ tastes begets elegance. You have shown me a fine example of the latter."

Blushing even more furiously, Caroline Bingley took her hand, squeezed it in appreciation, and said, "I must go back to my hostess duties, Liza. I will send your Mr. Darcy over."

Elizabeth blushed very prettily, stared at the floor, and replied, "He is not _my_ Mr. Darcy, and never will be."

Lina broke a few rules by reaching under her chin to make Elizabeth look at her, and replied, "He is not, but mark my words Liza. _He could be._"

Then with a short laugh and another squeeze of the hand, she was gone to be replaced by Jane who had walked up unseen behind her, asking, "Who could be what, Lizzy?"

"Never mind."


	20. The Ballroom

"Miss Elizabeth, you look even handsomer than usual tonight. Miss Bennet, you look quite tolerable as well."

Elizabeth, for a minute or so experienced a few of the very rare moments filled entirely with laughter and happiness since Ramsgate, while Jane looked on in perplexity. Jane was of course not offended by the remark but had to admit it was a peculiar sort of compliment. However, when she saw a hint of the laughing quirky Elizabeth, who had been mostly absent the past half‑year, she reckoned that Mr. Darcy could call her an ugly and none‑too‑bright sow and she would not mind in the least.

Elizabeth finally quit laughing, and replied, "Oh Jane… I fear I must act as interpreter for Mr. Darcy."

"Interpreter," she asked even more puzzled.

"Yes… well, you see. Mr. Darcy occasionally needs an interpreter to translate from English to English. I fear I must take up the office."

"If you say so, Lizzy."

Elizabeth chuckled again, and noticed Mr. Darcy was also enjoying the conversation, and was perhaps more relaxed than he had ever been in her company.

"You see Jane, 'tolerable' is the highest pantheon of beauty in Mr. Darcy's world. He just paid you the greatest compliment."

Jane laughed, and asked, "Is this one of those jokes where you had to be there to understand it?"

"Apparently so. Mr. Darcy, please start again with the King's English if you please."

Darcy laughed, and said, "It would be my pleasure. Miss Bennet, you look exceedingly handsome tonight. In fact, in this room your beauty is only eclipsed by your sister."

Jane's face lit up like the sun, while Elizabeth turned beet red but kept her eyes on the man's face. She was incandescently happy for the moment, until she started being bothered by Lina's words. _'He could be.'_

She had spent so much time with Lina that she had no entries on her dance cards except the three Mr. Darcy had arranged and the fourth, which she was unwilling to think about; but she had no fears for the evening. Four sets would be enough, and she _could in fact _be Mr. Darcy's partner for supper, and she could easily get partners after supper so there was no hurry. Perhaps she might compromise and forego the supper set, but still dine with Mr. Darcy.

Charlotte Lucas joined the group just a moment too late, and Mr. Darcy complimented her as well. Charlotte tried her best to demur, but she could not quite stand up to the combined weight of Jane, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, all of whom were quite insistent. Mr. Darcy asked Charlotte for the third set, which she gladly accepted, just before the music was to start.

"Miss Elizabeth", Darcy asked with a deep bow, and blushing again, Elizabeth took his hand to go to the top of the set.

* * *

Elizabeth found the start of the dance quite agreeable, and as it had been in the woods, neither partner felt any compulsion to fill the air with conversation. Since they were at the top of the set because of Mr. Darcy's status, they spent the first several minutes leading off the pattern, and then enjoying the first few dancers who fell in behind them. It was a soothing experience, being in a position where they could _just dance_. Elizabeth had decided that for the remainder of the evening, she would try her best to forget any of her possible troubles, and just enjoy her time.

At long last, she finally sighed, and said, "I suppose we should have some conversation, Mr. Darcy."

The man smiled in response, and asked somewhat playfully, _"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?"_

_"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."_

Darcy looked at her somewhat sternly and put the most ferocious frown on his face before replying.

_"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"_

_"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb."_

With that, they both burst out laughing so loudly Lydia would have been ashamed to admit a relationship, and then carried on with the dance. Elizabeth thought she could really appreciate the gentleman's sense of humor and wondered what it would be like to go many days without it when he inevitably left the area.

The first dance of the set came to an end surprisingly quickly, and Darcy asked, "May I get us some punch, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I will go with you, Mr. Darcy."

The gentleman held out his arm again, and they ambled across the room, saying quick 'hellos' to several acquaintances. Elizabeth was a little bit surprised at how many people Mr. Darcy had struck up acquaintances with in six weeks. That first night at the assembly she would have sworn he would enter the county and leave it a year later without a single friend, but the proof against that thesis was plain to see.

At the refreshments table, Darcy obtained two glasses of punch, and they moved over near a small potted plant to enjoy it.

Darcy, looking somewhat pensive, asked, "Miss Elizabeth, you are aware I have a sister?"

Elizabeth had been wondering just how long it would be until the conversation came up. This seemed as good of a time for it as any, since it was inevitable. The only thing that surprised Elizabeth was her lack of consternation about it. It was as if waiting for the axe to fall for so long, had eventually worn out her resistance to the point where she just wanted to get it over with.

"Yes, Lina mentioned her."

Looking puzzled, Darcy asked, "Lina?"

Elizabeth chuckled, and said, "Miss Bingley."

Darcy looked at her in absolute confusion, and said, "_Lina__?!_"

"Yes, Lina… although I am the only one that calls her that."

Darcy shook his head in confusion, and said, "I… sseeee."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Do not look so shocked, Mr. Darcy. It all started out somewhat unconventionally when I gave her a bit of a setdown about calling me 'Eliza'. Do you remember?"

Darcy laughed, and replied, "Of course! That was the most entertainment I have had in months."

Now Elizabeth looked a bit embarrassed, and said, "Yes, well, entertaining or not, well-deserved or not, it was probably not my finest hour."

Darcy just looked at her strangely, and asked, "And then?"

"You remember our 'secret affairs' on the steps of Netherfield? Well, I offered a truce and she accepted. I gave her permission to use the name and invited her to visit Longbourn. She later retaliated by offering 'Lina'. We have since become surprisingly good friends in a very short time, and she has even shortened it to 'Liza'."

Looking at him curiously for his reaction, she saw a grin spread from ear to ear, which moved him from quite handsome to insufferably handsome, as he replied, "Liza and Lina! Who would have thought?"

"Yes, who would have thought."

Both sat there for a moment digesting, and Elizabeth asked.

"Mr. Darcy, I am always asking favors, but would you be willing to grant one more?"

"Of course!"

"_Will you give Lina a chance? _I believe she has… well… I cannot say without breaking her confidence, but… I believe she may not be who and what she has previously appeared to be. Her upbringing may have been more difficult than we might think. I believe she may be trying to be someone different. Would you mind… perhaps… starting over with her. Just give her a chance."

"It will be my privilege, Miss Liza. I must admit to being curious to see what she makes of herself. Did you know that she is about twice as intelligent as she appears to be?"

Elizabeth's eyes got big as saucers, and said, "No!"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "The idiots in her seminary taught her that men disliked intelligence in a woman, so instructed her in the fine art of either suppressing it or hiding it. I only know because she occasionally forgets how stupid she is supposed to be. She grumbles about her brother's library just because she has a tough time hiding how much she reads."

Elizabeth just chuckled, and replied, "I did not see that coming."

Darcy said, "Do not worry, Miss Elizabeth. What you ask is no hardship. I have the second set with her, and we shall begin anew."

"I thank you, Mr. Darcy."

The next dance was starting again, so Elizabeth thought she might well have avoided the discussion of Georgiana Darcy once more.

* * *

The next dance turned out to be a very fast Scottish Reel, which left no time to talk in anything other than a few words here and there, and Lina's sense of humor seemed to be evolving quickly. The dance started out very fast, and every few minutes, it sped up, and then sped up again until everyone was flying across the floor like madmen. It was something that could not have happened in a sedate London ballroom, but in Hertfordshire, everyone loved it.

The dance ended with a bang, and the raucous applause from the dance left Lina smiling and laughing along with everyone else. She was dancing with Mr. Hurst, who Elizabeth was quite astounded to see was as Mr. Darcy had asserted, a _very_ good dancer. He was not as good as Mr. Darcy of course, but he did very well as second-best.

At the end of the dance, Elizabeth grabbed Mr. Darcy's hand and pulled him towards the refreshments table so they could get a cup of wine before the rest of the dancers arrived. They were comfortably to the side talking again in just a few minute's time.

After they caught their breath, Mr. Darcy tried another tack.

"Miss Elizabeth, I believe we were distracted from a discussion of my sister."

Feeling her heart in her throat, Elizabeth decided it was time to tough it out and get it over with.

"I believe she is reputed to be very accomplished, and slightly taller than I. Is she at Pemberley?"

She hoped beyond hope that the answer was 'yes', since her Aunt Gardiner had assured her that Pemberley was a good four days travel to the North.

Darcy assumed a smile that Elizabeth thought boded well for Georgiana Darcy's future felicity. It was obvious that her brother loved her, which just went to prove Elizabeth's theory that 'GW' was a scoundrel of the worst order.

"Last summer, I removed her from school… abominable places… I wish I had known…"

Seeing his smile turn into a frown, Elizabeth asked, "And?"

Regaining his thoughts, Darcy continued, "I hired a companion for her, and she took a holiday in Ramsgate. It was probably around the time you were on holiday."

"Perhaps," was all Elizabeth was willing to say.

"When we first met… well, not when we _first_ met…"

Elizabeth laughed, and teasingly said, "Do not even think about it, Mr. Darcy!"

He laughed, and said, "Oh, I mean when we first met after that night that I cannot recall."

Elizabeth smiled, and said, "Good boy."

"Your father mentioned you were very concerned by propriety and manners, which was something new. I mentioned that my sister had gone through something similar, as she very suddenly took an immense interest in the topic. Mr. Bennet assured me that it was a normal and expected part of growing up, though obviously not all young ladies go through it."

"How old is your sister, Mr. Darcy."

"She just turned sixteen."

For just a moment Elizabeth relived her previous nightmare but kept her voice steady despite her quickly beating heart.

"So, between Lydia and Kitty."

"Yes."

"Do not be concerned, Mr. Darcy. We all go through many changes at that time of life, and decorum, is not a terrible subject for her to take up."

Darcy chuckled, "I happily concur. She does not seem to be harmed by it."

"So, what happened?"

"I have no idea what, if anything triggered it. I have no idea if I should even ask her or not."

Feeling a bit of panic, Elizabeth quickly said, "I would not recommend it, Sir. If she wants you to know, she will tell you. Consider it one of those 'secret affairs'. Make sure she has a female to discuss it with if she likes, but otherwise, let her lead."

She felt like he _must_ be able to see right through her since she had just made that entire assertion up out of whole cloth; but that was the only thing she could think to say.

"I concur, Miss Elizabeth. That has been my thought. I have not spoken to her for some months, so it may be all different next time anyway."

Elizabeth was confused, and asked, "Some months, Sir?"

"Yes. After her holiday, we were visited by a distant cousin from Ireland. My cousin has a daughter of around one and twenty… she reminds me of you, actually. Georgiana quite liked her cousin, as she has been mostly deprived of female companionship near her own age and station. She asked to go with them for a visit to an estate in Scotland, and I granted it. Her letters are full of adventure and excitement, so I am quite jealous."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Poor, Baby!"

The laughter felt good. If Georgiana Darcy was in Scotland, she was safe for a while.

Not noticing the fleeting emotions flashing across Elizabeth's features, Darcy continued.

"She will be returning to London for the festive season. I expect her in about a fortnight."

Elizabeth tried her best not to cry out at that reminder, and it took her some effort to still her heart enough to hide her feelings.

"I am sure you will be happy to see her, Sir. I presume you will be leaving us then?"

She waited breathlessly for the answer.

Darcy, feeling like he was making excellent progress, but _missing something_ in his interactions, studied her carefully. He had been in her company enough to know he enjoyed it immensely… perhaps… well, best not to get _too_ far ahead of himself. There was till _some mystery_ about Elizabeth Bennet that had him confused, and he desperately wanted to get to the bottom of it. He wanted to _understand her_.

"Yes, I will meet her in London. I was wondering though, Miss Elizabeth. Might I bring her here for a visit and introduce her to your family and the neighborhood. I think it would be very good for her."

Elizabeth's heart once again started beating hard enough she thought it might her chest, and it took an act of iron will to keep her voice even in her reply.

"Of course, she will always be welcome in Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy. It is not a settled thing, but there is some chance I will be traveling soon, but Lina and my sisters will heartily welcome Miss Darcy, and I will of course, if I am here."

This turn of events was a complete shock to Darcy, and it was his turn to try to keep his breathing under control. He asked, "Traveling, Miss Elizabeth. I had no idea."

Elizabeth replied, "It is not a settled thing, Mr. Darcy… a bit of a family matter. If the plans come to fruition, I will let you know, but you need not constrain your sister to my travel schedule. Everyone here will welcome her."

With that, Darcy started breathing easier, and it would be some minutes into the next set before he began to wonder exactly _why_ the very idea of not having Elizabeth Bennet there to meet his sister made him nearly fall over flat on the floor.

The musicians started tuning up for the next set, which prevented any further discussion. Both feeling a bit unsettled, they returned to the ballroom and their waiting partners.

* * *

"Miss Bennet, I believe this is our set."

Elizabeth curtsied to Mr. Hurst, and replied, "Yes, of course, Sir. I thank you for asking."

Hurst just laughed and replied, "Ah, is that how you remember it, eh? Well, so be it. I 'asked'. Let us get to it."

As the couple walked towards the second set of the evening, they passed Miss Bingley, who simply raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

Elizabeth giggled, and said, "Behave, Lina!"

Caroline just laughed and walked away towards Mr. Darcy who had requested her hand for the second set. Elizabeth smiled at the two and winked at Mr. Darcy to let him know that he was to be on his best behavior.

The dance started, and Elizabeth got to spend some minutes just enjoying a dance well done. Mr. Hurst was as good as he had appeared to be, and she found they put on a reasonable effort.

After some minutes, the gentleman opened with, "Miss Elizabeth, I hope you realize you are quite in my brown books."

Elizabeth was shocked by the assertion, until she saw his lips quirking towards a smile.

"Ah, may I be enlightened as to the nature of my offense, Mr. Hurst?"

"I have many reasons, Miss Elizabeth, but the primary one is that you have ruined my life."

"Oh! How so, sir?"

"Miss Elizabeth, I shall be happy to explain. It will be nice to get it off my chest before I go back upstairs and hang myself."

"I am happy to be of service, Mr. Hurst."

"Do you have any idea what my life is like, Miss Elizabeth. I am heir to an estate, but my father is hale and hearty. He is expected to outlive Methuselah. We do not get on, so I am stuck finding amusement to fill my time."

"It sounds like a cruel fate, Sir."

"Yes, and do you know what my primary sources of amusement are?"

"I have no idea."

The dance separated them for some moments, and when they returned, he continued without missing a beat.

"Well, for some time, it has been poking fun at my sister in law Caroline and Darcy. Now I find them both impervious to all my amusements. Caroline gives me thoughtful answers, and Darcy is polite to everyone in the county. You have ruined my life, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth just laughed, and replied, "Well, sir I really do apologize. I do have quite some experience at estate matters though, so the least I can do is make certain your rope is sufficiently clean and strong for the job. It seems like the least I can do."

With that, they both laughed heartily, and the rest of the dance passed in light-hearted conversation about plain dishes versus ragouts, the joys of hunting and a surprisingly detailed description of the antics of a new puppy.

* * *

The discussion of puppies turned out to be a good segue into Elizabeth's next set. Mr. Hurst gallantly escorted her to the refreshments table for more punch, and then delivered her safely into Mr. Bingley's hands.

His parting comment of, "He used to be more fun as well", raised yet another amused grin, before Mr. Hurst went off to see if there was anyone amusing left in Hertfordshire.

Mr. Bingley turned out to be a wonderful dancer. He had the technical skills and timing of Mr. Hurst, and an infectious joy in living that seemed to make everyone around him happier.

Their conversation was quite interesting as well. They managed to sufficiently canvass a wide range of topics including Jane's favorite activities, Jane's favorite foods, Jane's childhood antics, Jane's experience with estate matters, Jane's interactions with young children and too many other interesting and diverting topics to count.

Elizabeth found the set to be over before she even knew it and was absolutely certain that Jane's assertion earlier in the evening that _'he is not __my__ Mr. Bingley' _was absolute rubbish.


	21. The Necessary

With some time before the gloom and doom certain to accompany her fourth set, Elizabeth decided a visit to the necessary was required. She thought if worse came to worse she could go and find Mr. Hurst's rope and kill herself before the set commenced, but a few minutes alone with her thoughts would not be amiss. Of course, a trip to the necessary meant that she would in fact have a few minutes with the chattering of every female in the house, but that was just about the same thing as being alone.

She rounded a corner just outside the ballroom and was vexed to see both Lydia and Kitty acting in a most indecorous manner, nearly running across the space. Nobody else was in the room, so she wondered at how little her heartfelt lessons in Meryton had affected them and wondered if she would have to resort to a good thrashing.

They came skidding to a halt in front of her, and before she could say anything, Lydia hissed in a very agitated voice, "Thank goodness you are here, Lizzy. _You must come! Right now!_ It is an emergency."

The fear in her voice and the paleness of Kitty's countenance threw all thoughts of chastisement from her mind, and she asked, "What is wrong, Sisters?"

"May I be of assistance, Ladies?"

Lydia and Kitty nearly jumped out of their skins at being discovered, but Elizabeth calmly replied, "Lina, I am glad you are here. My sisters indicate that there is some emergency."

Caroline Bingley had both seen and experienced heart-stopping fear before and could readily recognize the symptoms. The two youngest were clearly distressed by what they had seen, but they were also distrustful of her, understandably enough.

She quickly replied, "Miss Lydia. Miss Catherine. Please calm yourselves. Remember we are ladies and must act the part. Have no fear. Nothing you say shall ever leave this small circle, is that not right, Liza."

Elizabeth quickly added, "You can trust Lina, Lydia. Tell us the problem."

Shaking her head, Lydia asked, "Lina?"

"Not now, Lydia. The 'Emergency'?"

Reminded of why they were making all the fuss in the first place, Lydia said, "It is Maria Lucas. She is _alone_ with Lieutenant Willoughby in the hall, out of sight. We just saw her by chance."

With her heart pounding and her hand flexing for the long‑lost walking stick, Elizabeth said, "**Show** **me**!"

Lina, not to be outdone, said, "Liza, this is my home. Will you allow me deal with the cretin?"

Elizabeth's blood was boiling, and the veins were sticking out on her neck, so she barely heard the lady. Lina grabbed her arm, and hissed, "Liza! This must be done quietly if we wish any hope of salvaging Miss Maria's reputation. Please, allow me."

Elizabeth nodded, but whispered, "You can try the nice way, Lina. If that is ineffective, I will try the other."

Nodding, all four ladies followed Lydia and Kitty back around the corner to the hidden hallway.

They found the erstwhile couple a good two dozen yards from the ballroom. The so-called gentleman had one hand directly on Maria's waist, the other on the back of her neck, and was talking quietly with their faces and bodies only a few inches apart. Elizabeth was just about to walk up and deal with the scoundrel, when she saw Lina pass her, moving quickly but so smoothly she could have been a duck paddling across a still pond.

Caroline Bingley walked up to the pair, and said, "Lieutenant Willoughby, what is the meaning of this?"

The two jumped apart, with Maria showing acute embarrassment, and Willoughby simply smirking.

"We were just becoming acquainted, Miss Bingley. No harm was done."

Maria was staring at the ground, and the insufferable Mr. Willoughby just stood up straighter, practically laughing at the ladies. He saw no gentlemen, so had no worries about his safety.

Surprisingly, the red‑head walked straight up to him, and then extending the palm of her hand, she poked him in the chest… hard.

Very quietly, only loud enough for Liza to hear since the two youngest sisters had dragged the hapless Miss Maria a half‑dozen yards down the hall, Miss Bingley stood up to her full and considerable height and said, "May I show you something that will be of great interest to you, Lieutenant Willoughby?"

Confused by her strong stance combined with her soft words, and the fact that her punch in the chest had _hurt_, he stepped back, bowed, and said, "Of course, Miss Bingley. I am at your disposal."

The smirk that accompanied the remark made Elizabeth want to take his own sword from him and chop his head off, but Lina shook her head as if she could read her thoughts.

Lina reached into her reticule and pulled out a small wad of banknotes. It reminded Elizabeth of her own £137 that she had on her person right at that moment, as she had every moment that she spent outside of Longbourn since Ramsgate. Miss Bingley was not carrying quite so much, but it was more than a few pounds, and Elizabeth wondered idly why Lina carried so much and if she always did so.

Quite calmly, Lina peeled off two notes, held them up, and rubbed them together.

Elizabeth could see that the Lieutenant was expecting a bribe and eyed the notes hungrily.

Miss Bingley said, "Lieutenant, what do you suppose this is?"

"I suspect it is what you think you can get away with to buy my silence. Double it and we have a bargain."

The hated man smirked at the insinuation and held his hand out.

Caroline continued staring at him, and replied, "Close… but I am afraid that is not quite it."

"We seem to be at an impasse then, Miss Bingley."

Caroline, quite calmly replied, "Not quite."

A shadow cast itself across the officer's face, and he said, "Well then, get on with it Woman. What is it?"

Caroline looked at the notes carefully and replied quite calmly.

"This is what it would cost me to ask my largest and most trusted footmen, who has been with my family for two decades, and was a _real_ soldier before that; to drag you out behind the stables and beat you within an inch of your life."

Elizabeth was quite gratified to see the cretin turn pale, and start to sputter, backing away from her friend.

After staring hard at the man until he looked down at the floor, Caroline peeled off two more banknotes, and said, "This is what it would cost for the last inch."

Visibly sweating and looking shaken, the officer looked considerably less sure of himself.

Staring at him further, she peeled off one more note, and added, "This is what it would take to get a man I know of to feed what is left of you to his pigs. Enormous beasts they are, the size of ponies. They eat everything, right down to boots and belt buckles. The sword I would keep as a souvenir."

Elizabeth was quite surprised to see a stain appear on the soldier's trousers and sweat start pouring down off his face.

"Lieutenant… well, former Lieutenant since you are going to desert in the next few minutes; I will not bother my brother in this matter, or any of the other considerable number of gentlemen I know. You are not worth the sullying of a gentleman's reputation, nor the inevitable expense of a legal defense, nor all the tedium of cleaning and sharpening a sword. You and your like are vermin, to be exterminated upon sight."

Caroline put the remainder of the money back in her reticule, calmly folded up the amount she had peeled off before, and said, "In one hour, Mr. Willoughby I will give this to my footman, and I will tell him it applies if he ever sees you again; with the caveat that it applies anywhere I go; here, London, wherever I settle… you understand. I strongly suggest that you be gone from the county within that hour, and the country soon after."

Willoughby took off for a side door running like a frightened bunny, and Elizabeth, unable to hold her emotions grabbed Caroline in a hug and did not let go. She dearly hoped the other girls could not tell how much Lina was shaking like a leaf, and she hung on until her friend got her equilibrium back, which took quite some time.

"Thank you, Lina. That was the bravest thing I have ever seen."

Lina just asked, "Then why am I shaking?"

"People think bravery is lack of fear. That is wrong. Bravery is being frightened to death and doing the right thing anyway. Lack of fear is just stupidity. There is no courage without fear."

"Thank you, Liza. You know of course that I made the whole thing up?"

Elizabeth just laughed, gave her friend one more pat on the back and said, "The pigs are real… or at least, I think they are."

They then walked over to the three youngest ladies huddling in the corner, and Miss Bingley once again stood up to her most frightening height, and said, "Miss Lydia, Miss Catherine… well done… very well done! Miss Maria, you are coming with me. We will be having a talk. Prepare yourself. It may take some time."

Elizabeth wondered at the wisdom of such a move but looking at Lina she saw the wink that indicated the talk would be _just_ frightening enough to be effective and left her friend to it.

"Kitty, I will need you to tell Lady Lucas that Miss Bingley has asked Maria to examine some things in her rooms, and she might be gone for a while."

"Yes, Lizzy."

"It goes without saying that no word of this incident will ever be spoken _to anybody_."

"Or course no!"

"We should return."


	22. The Anteroom

"Miss Elizabeth, shall we dance."

Elizabeth looked at her cousin with some consternation. She considered the relative benefits of just saying she was done with dancing for the evening. She still had not added anything to her dance card beyond the current set and thought the evening had been so enjoyable that it might be sensible to leave it on a high note. However, even thought she might not quite be willing to admit it to herself, she was seriously considering taking Mr. Darcy up on his offer for another set. The only thing stopping her was the fact that she was still, even at that late date, tremendously conflicted about just how to deal with the gentleman and his sister; and she had very little time before she would have to decide.

"Shall we, Mr. Collins."

Mr. Collins offered his arm, but Elizabeth, somewhat impolitely, ignored it and walked to their place in the set beside him.

As expected, next two dances started out bad and got worse over time. They were in fact _dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy._

At least, it should have been ecstasy. Instead, Mr. Collins followed her to the side of the room, and then followed her around for the next dozen minutes like an entirely different breed of dog than her previous dance partner. He was much more akin to a small yapping dog, following at your heels yipping and yapping, biting your ankles, and stopping occasionally to mark some imagined territory, before running after you yet again, yapping constantly.

Mr. Collins, thinking this was finally his chance to make some more progress with his pretty cousin, spent some considerable time talking about the glories of Rosings, the suitability of his 'humble' parsonage, and the wonderful condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth tried her best to shake the man, but he may as well have latched onto her dancing slippers with his sharp little teeth, and no amount of subtle discouragement seemed able to dislodge him.

The supper set was just about starting, and Elizabeth seriously considered taking Mr. Darcy up on his offer, but something stopped her. Dancing the first and supper sets with him would be a tacit admission that their relationship was something well beyond indifferent acquaintances, and it would absolutely raise expectations. She believed they were probably already being raised among her mother's gossip circle and the general neighborhood, but such a collection of dances would be clear and unambiguous. She was not ready for that, nor would she ever be, so shaking Mr. Collins seemed to be a priority.

Elizabeth just barely managed to bring her attention back to her verbose cousin in time to hear the most shocking thing he had said all night. "… and I am certain you would enjoy Lady Catherine's company and advice. Miss Elizabeth, with your permission, I would like to spend the remainder of the evening close to you."

Elizabeth gasped at the audacity of the attention, and nearly shouted, "_Mr. Collins, I can see my writing to Lady Catherine is far more crucial than I had previously assumed. Your manners Sir, require considerably more instruction if you believe that is a proper question to ask a lady in this circumstance._"

Mr. Collins started sputtering, "But Miss Elizabeth… but… but…."

Elizabeth was just about to run away from the cretin when she was brought up short by a hand grasping her around her arm hard enough that it felt like Mr. O'Malley's vise, and she heard a screeching voice that was unmistakable.

"Mr. Collins, would you please excuse us. My daughter and I have some things to discuss."

"Of course, Mrs. Bennet."

Mr. Collins, feeling like the situation was finally to be set to rights, bowed several times so low Elizabeth feared he might end up an embarrassing mess laying on the floor as he backed away… directly into a servant who only barely managed to avoid dumping a half‑dozen glasses on the floor.

Profusely apologizing in an even more confusing manner than usual, Mr. Collins was still babbling when Mrs. Bennet dragged Elizabeth away into an anteroom next to the library and closed the door.

"Now Miss Lizzy, you will tell me exactly what you were doing. You were abominably rude to Mr. Collins. Can you not see that he is particularly interested in you?"

Horrified by the entire line of reasoning, and angry at being dragged from a dance like a spoiled child, when she had two sisters who _were _spoiled children made Elizabeth's blood boil, and her politeness disappear entirely.

"Yes mother, nobody with the slightest bit of discernment could fail to see his intention, but _I am not interested."_

"Not interested… Not interested… It is not for you to pick and choose, Elizabeth. Do you have any idea what I suffer with five daughters to marry off? If you think you can toss away the heir of Longbourn on a whim, you are very much mistaken."

"It is not a whim, mother. The man is utterly ridiculous. No woman with the slightest bet of sense or pride could attach herself to such a man. I would rather starve in the hedgerows."

"Oh pish, a man is a man. It does not matter who you marry. You will need to bear him an heir, and then you can mostly ignore one another. It is the way of marriage. The man is respectable. He is not vicious. He has a good living, and he will, sooner than you might think, be the master of Longbourn and you could be its mistress. He is entirely suitable."

Elizabeth's heart was once again racing, but she found she was enjoying it. She had felt palpitations in her chest something like what her mother imagined she felt for six months, but most of those were driven by fear. It was liberating to be acting on pure unadulterated _anger_. Anger was good… or at least it was better than fear and shame.

"He is not suitable, mother."

No stranger to anger herself, Mrs. Bennet decided to take another tack.

"Are you disdaining Mr. Collins because you think you have a chance at Mr. Darcy, Lizzy. I see how he looks at you. He is not in your power yet, but _he could be_. It is a risky strategy giving up the bird in the hand, but Mr. Darcy is certainly worth a dozen of Mr. Collins. If that is your aim, I shall not complain."

Her mother talking about Mr. Darcy in the same manner she would use on choosing a leg of lamb or fabric for a dress sent Elizabeth into the highest flights of fury.

"Mr. Darcy's _friendship_ with me is _none__ of your business, Mother!_ He is a gentleman, and a friend. He is not, nor will he ever be any more than that."

"Believe what you like Lizzy, but that man is interested in you… or would be if you helped him along a bit. You dress more demurely than Mary. Show him a bit of what is on offer, and I assure you, he will be brought to the point. Men are such simple creatures."

Elizabeth had thought that she could never in her life be angrier than she had in Ramsgate, but her mother's flagrant suggestion that she practically compromise Mr. Darcy left her ready to spit. She stepped up inches from her mother and hissed like a snake, _"You are very much mistaken, Mama. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman – a pure gentleman – the finest man I have ever known. He is not for the likes of me."_

In a shift so sudden it left Elizabeth's head spinning, her mother deflated from the angry rooster stance she had previously adopted, stepped back a step, and said the most surprising thing of the entire conversation.

"So, Elizabeth Bennet is not dead after all!"

Shocked and confused, Elizabeth came down off her toes, walked back a step, and asked, "I do not understand, Mama."

"What happened to you, Lizzy? You went to Ramsgate an impertinent girl full of fight and fire, and then you came back a shadow. For half a year you have been more Mary than Mary. This is the first bit of fire I have seen since you left in your uncle's coach."

Wondering exactly what her mother knew and did not know, and what she was getting at, Elizabeth was at a loss for how to proceed.

"I grew up, Mother."

"Did something happen, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth just nodded, while feeling a flurry of confusion, with her anger about her mother's conversation and her feelings of shame about Ramsgate vying for her attention. For several hours, 'GW' had been batting around the periphery of her conscience, and now he was staring at her front and center.

Mrs. Bennet, not recognizing the thoughts going through her daughter's head continued apace.

"I presume you will not tell me, no matter what I do."

Elizabeth nodded again.

Mrs. Bennet sighed, took Elizabeth's hand, walked her over to a sofa, and sat down with her. Giving Elizabeth a minute to calm down, she continued.

"I know it is difficult Elizabeth, but you cannot go on like you are forever. You have two eligible suitors, neither of whom can be diverted to my other daughters. Your father and I have saved very little for you, and it is my _duty_ to have my daughters married and settled. It is the only true path to comfort and respectability; do you understand Elizabeth."

Elizabeth looked at her mother as if for the first time, and replied, "I understand far more than you might think, Mother. I just cannot."

"You would rather starve in the hedgerows. I know you like to poke fun at me by echoing my words back, but I can assure you, poverty is not pretty. Are you certain you wish to expose your sisters to it under the almost certainly vain hope of doing better than Mr. Collins? Mr. Darcy would do nicely and taking a chance on his affections would be worth the risk. I can convince Mr. Collins you were already attracted to the man, so he does not take it too hard."

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation.

"You mistake me, Mother. I will not be attached to either gentleman."

Mrs. Bennet had just about exhausted her meager store of sympathy, and with her ire rising once again, she said, "I will not allow you to put our entire family at risk, Miss Elizabeth Rose Bennet. You cannot carry on as you are forever. You must choose one. If not, you might wish to spend a bit of time in the hedgerows to see how you like it. I will not support you forever."

Elizabeth was astounded her moments of sympathy with her mother had lasted as long as they had, and her ire rising in parallel, snapped back, "I shall **NOT**! You entirely mistake me, Mother."

Elizabeth felt like her entire life had been spent coalescing to this point in time. She felt all the pressures that were being put to bear on her crushing her as if she were squeezed in Mr. O'Malley's vise in Harpendon in one direction, his tongs in the other, and her mother beating on her with his hammer. She had the Darcys from one direction, the death of GW from another, her sister's barely restrained behavior from another, Mr. Collins from another, the assize from another; and she just wanted to climb up on the table next to the sofa and scream. She thought the pressure was just about to either crush her or make her as hard as a diamond; and could not possibly predict which it was to be.

Elizabeth's ire calmed down to a barely restrained fury and continued in an iron-edged whisper that reminded her of the file used to smooth out the edges of a piece of iron. She needed to be the iron, so she replied, "You are mistaken, Mother! You propose two potentials for me. I can assure you that I am not good enough for Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Collins is not good enough for me. I will choose my fate, Mama! _I am resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you,_ or any other person."

Mrs. Bennet, seeing the implacable stubbornness, she knew was at the core of her daughter, decided enough was enough.

"Choose wisely, Elizabeth. You may not get another chance."

With that, she turned and headed for the door. Just before closing the door to give her recalcitrant daughter a few minutes to comprehend the gravity of the situation and the obvious course of action, she offered one last bit of advice.

"Choose wisely."


	23. Choose Wisely

Feeling more and more pressured all the forces assailing her, Elizabeth carefully got up to leave the anteroom that reminded her so much of her discussion with her mother. She went into the much-maligned library and closed the door after making sure it was empty. One of the servants had laid a fire earlier in the night that was burned down, but instead of asking for another to improve it, she just added some wood and poked it back to life. The activity felt like it brought her a bit back to life herself and gave her a few minutes to let her racing thoughts slow down to a speed where they might be useful.

Her thoughts went round and round with her mother's parting words.

_'Choose wisely.' 'Choose wisely.' 'Choose wisely.'_

Was it possible that her mother was wiser than she seemed, or was it a case of a stopped clock being right twice a day? Elizabeth tried to distance herself from her thoughts for just a moment, and for perhaps the first time, tried to _truly_ understand how her mother felt. Five live births and who knew how many miscarriages and stillbirths would take a toll on anyone, no matter how sensible they were. The measure of a mother's success was in how well she married off her daughters, and she was in fact facing difficulties if she failed. It was not as dire as Mrs. Bennet liked to pretend, unless you considered the dower house to be the exact equivalent of the hedgerows, but it was something that would grate away at you over time, sapping away your vitality one day at a time. It was hardly any wonder her mother acted as she did.

_'Choose wisely.'_

Were those the most profound words ever spoken, or had her mother touched on just the right words at just the right time by chance.

_'Choose wisely.'_

Elizabeth reflected on the conundrum as long as she could, and then decided that in the end it did not matter anyway. Her mother had given her life at the exact time when it was required, and her mother had given her wisdom at the exact time it was required. Did it matter if Mrs. Bennet would be wise on the morrow or not? Did it matter if Mrs. Bennet was pushing Elizabeth in a direction she did not want to go? Probably not.

It was time to think… time to plan… time to…

Elizabeth once again distracted herself from her thoughts by casting back to Mr. O'Malley's forge in Harpendon. The gentleman, she had always considered him a gentleman despite him being a blacksmith, had shown her the most fascinating parts of the trade. The first was _shaping_, heating the iron red‑hot, then bending it into the right shape using hammer and anvil, vice, twisting or whatever else was necessary to get the piece you wanted. The next was _quenching_, heating the iron up to just the right temperature, and then dousing it into the water or oil to harden it. The last was _tempering_, heating it up and letting it cool down slowly, which removed some of the hardness and made it less brittle.

All were necessary to gain the piece you needed. You had to use hardening to get a piece of metal tough enough to survive the rigors of the job. Too soft, and it would be rubbed into nothing in no time. _However_, if you left the material too hard, it was too brittle. Too much strain and it would break, because it could not bend to the need.

An expert blacksmith knew exactly how much hardening something needed to be able to withstand the rigors of the job, and how much flexibility would be needed to survive the inevitable slings and arrows it was to receive. Based on that analogy, Elizabeth needed both hardening and tempering, both of which had to start right there, right then, in that library.

_'Choose wisely.'_

Her mother's parting words were the key.

The first, _'Choose' _was to be the hardening. Elizabeth must _choose_ her fate, and not spend the rest of her life waiting for it to choose her. For six weeks, she had tried to have it both ways. Avoid Mr. Darcy… Stalk Mr. Darcy… Try not to think about Ramsgate… Think about Ramsgate all day long… Go easy on her sisters… Bludgeon her sisters… Be absolutely polite… Be a bit of a harridan… Chastise Miss Bingley… Befriend Lina… on and on and on and on.

Elizabeth had let the winds of fate push her around, with each breeze pushing her unerringly into a corner she could not escape without a choice, just like a sheepdog herding sheep into a pasture. She had to choose. She had to make a choice.

That was where the second word came in. _'Choose wisely.'_

What was wisdom? How could a young lady of only twenty years and no real experience claim the mantle of _wisdom_? Well, Elizabeth reckoned, wisdom was not only the province of the aged, and in fact, she thought she could detect a precipitous decline in wisdom in some of the older people she knew. She would just have to make her own pact with fate.

What was wisdom? The first part seemed like it must revolve around protecting the ones you love. What else in life was truly important? What made the parent begat the child and protect them to the best of their ability? What caused siblings to support each other through difficulties? What was the glue that held everything from families to communities to nations together? At some level, it had to be love of one sort or another. If wisdom was nothing more than protecting the ones you loved, then Elizabeth was content to accept that as a classic definition.

That opened the door to what was involved in _protecting the ones you love?_ One aspect that seemed to reverberate through history was the frequent need for tradeoffs. Many times in life, it was up to the few to protect the many. Why else did soldiers go to battle? It was so a few soldiers could protect their homes, families and countries. Elizabeth was not naïve enough to believe war was always about such high-minded goals. Much of it was nothing but greed and jealousy, but the purest of the soldiers risked their lives for their loved ones. It seemed fitting.

With those thoughts firmly in mind, she had to think about all the pressures that were being brought to bear. In the end, the worst was what it had always been… her _secret._ No matter how unlikely it would be for her to be brought before the Assize and hanged, it was not impossible. There were dozens or hundreds of people hanged in England every day to prove the point. Elizabeth had even read one account in the newspaper that sounded hauntingly familiar to her case, and the woman was hanged. It was not common, but it did happen.

Who would be affected if the secret were revealed? The answer to that was obvious. Every single person she had ever known would be affected, but the most affected would be the ones she loved the most. Her sisters, her parents, her closest friends… and… well, Elizabeth thought it was high time she just admitted to herself that everyone she loved would be hurt, perhaps irreparably, and the list of people she loved included a gentleman who she had not met six weeks prior.

The next question was who would _really_ be hurt if she protected all those people… if she removed herself from the possibility of English justice. Elizabeth was not stupid. All she had to do to avoid English justice was leave England. She had been thinking and planning for that contingency for six months… so who would really be hurt?

In the end, she thought that everyone who loved her would be hurt, some more than others, but they would _recover_. They would wonder about her, and perhaps some of them would fret for some time, but they would all mend and go on to lead happy and productive lives. The only one that would truly be hurt was _her_.

_'Choose wisely.'_

Elizabeth realized that the time to choose was upon her, but was there really a choice? Really?

Feeling the best that she had for six long months, Elizabeth reveled in the power of a clear and unambiguous decision. No more vacillating… no more obfuscating… no more prevaricating… no more indecision…

The decision was made, and all that remained to be done was clear in the instant of decision.


	24. The Darcy Study

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat in his study, bathed, shaved and fully dressed, staring out the window watching the sun come up. Today was the day… his thirtieth birthday, and the day he had promised himself to turn the page and start the next chapter in the story of his life. He truly believed that _this time_ he would keep his promise to his best friend, though it remained to be seen whether he would keep the promise any better than he had on his previous dozen self‑imposed drop-dead dates.

As he had been doing for many of the days of the last two and a half years, he pulled _the letter _out of the top drawer in his desk. He had long ago memorized it, but there was something soothing about running his fingers along the edges, though the letter would disintegrate soon if he kept handling it.

* * *

_26 November  
Library, Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire _

_Dear Mr. Darcy,_

_I must apologize for this unorthodox method of communication, but we are not to meet again, and there are things that must be said, and I do not have the strength to tell you directly. It occurs to me, Sir, that you have apologized enough times to me that I had to chastise you, but I have never apologized to you even once, though you may have been due several. Please let this note redress the balance._

_As I mentioned during our last dance, I have some travel plans. At the time I told you, my departure was uncertain, but events have made it inevitable. Please do not be dismayed over it. I am leaving my home on my own terms, going to a place I want to go to do something I want to do. I have not been coerced by anyone, but I have found it is time for me to put away my childish things. I am afraid I cannot tell you exactly why I need to leave so precipitously. Perhaps this concealment, this disguise is beneath me; it is done, however, and it is done for the best._

_I once heard you say that disguise was your abhorrence. I am going to encroach on our friendship one more time and ask you to hold your nose and help my father. I have given him a letter with several ways to explain my absence, all of them complete fabrications. When he chooses his story, I would ask you to support him. Your name carries some weight._

_While I do not hold any real sway over your actions, I will ask you as a friend to do something for me. I beg you, Sir, to live your life in a joyful way and be happy. That is all I ask. I believe you have had a number of difficulties in your life, and when you appeared in our county, may I be so bold as to say that you were not happy. Now, six weeks later, I do not know that you are happy, but you have shown that you have the capacity. My only request is that you allow that capability to flower. _

_In other words, embrace your life, Sir. It is high time you were married and settled, as I believe you will be a good father and your estate needs an heir. You know exactly what to do, so I shall not presume to advise you, aside from the small push I am giving you now. Be the man I have known these past six weeks, and all will be well._

_The last thing I will say is the most important. You, Sir, are the best man I have ever known. You are honorable, kind, forthright, thoughtful and best of all, implacably stubborn. It has been a privilege knowing you and being called your friend._

_And so, my friend, I must bid you adieu. One last favor I ask is that you remember me from time to time, and when you do, rest assured that I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you._

_Your friend,  
Elizabeth Bennet _

* * *

As he had the last dozen times he read the letter, he took the handkerchief that came with it to dry his eyes. The letter had been delivered in the early morning hours after the Netherfield ball by a servant who knew nothing more than that the package was to be delivered to his hand privately. It contained the letter, and one of Elizabeth Bennet's embroidered handkerchiefs. Jane always said it was easy enough to detect because the embroidery was so atrociously bad, and they always managed to laugh together over the assertion.

He was just wiping his eyes when he heard a knock on the door and bade his sister to enter.

"William, today is the day. Are you reading your letter again?"

"Yes, Georgie."

"Are you any closer to understanding why she left?"

"I fear not. Something happened the summer before she met me, and we believe it _may_ be related, but that is all speculation."

"Are you still determined follow her direction and turn the page?"

Darcy took the note and moved it towards the flame of a candle burning on the desk, but he could no more move the last inch to the flame than he had before. His face broke out in a cross between a frustrated sigh, and a crooked grin, while his sister just laughed at his predicament.

"Perhaps, save it and burn it on your wedding day."

Darcy laughed, and said, "At my present rate of progress, you will be burying it in my coffin."

Georgiana just grinned. After her trip to Scotland two years previously while her brother was in Hertfordshire, she had become much closer to him. She had of course kept her word to her long‑ago rescuer and told him nothing of the incident in Ramsgate, but otherwise, she had let her brother into all her concerns, and their relationship had flourished like never before.

Georgiana Darcy had thus far delayed her coming out twice, but at nearly nineteen, it was past time for her to get on with it. She had made a compact with her brother that they would both effectively enter the 'marriage mart' together to offer moral support, but thus far had not made good on the threats.

"Are you ready for our guests? They are to be here for breakfast?"

"Yes. I am expecting Bennet, Charles, Jane, Lydia and Lina. Kitty and Mary are visiting Lambton with Mrs. Gardiner."

Georgiana smiled, and replied, "It will be good to have a war council with Lydia."

"Are you two still planning to come out together?"

"Yes, we are. She has been surprising resilient in her demands. She lets her mother's effusions just run off her back like a duck, but we shall come out together at Aunt Matlock's ball."

"Well, I am happy to see it. I never understood young ladies desire to be out as soon as possible."

"Says the man who is not really out at 30!", she replied with a twinkle in her eye, "I shall leave you in peace and see you in a few hours at breakfast."

Darcy turned away from his desk, and thought, _'now is the time, Darcy.'_

Despite the early hour, he turned to the cabinet behind his desk to complete his birthday ritual. He pulled down the brandy bottle, a gift from Mr. Bennet and poured the very last glass. This was the end of the brandy from the bottle Mr. Bennet had used the very first day he came to apologize to Elizabeth over the chessboard. When she left so unexpectedly, and with an explanation that implied she was leaving out something enormous, Mr. Bennet had gifted the remainder of the bottle to the gentleman as a remembrance. Now, with his self-appointed time expired, and the last of the brandy poured, he thought it might just be time to follow his last instructions from Elizabeth and get on with his life.

Just as in that long-ago day, he upended the glass and drank the entire amount in one swallow. Then, he carefully cleaned the bottle with a cloth, put it back on the shelf, and went out to begin at long last following her instructions.

* * *

Darcy reckoned the best preparation for the day was a hard ride. The best spot for riding he had found in London was a small copse about halfway to Cheapside. He stumbled on it one day while going to visit Mr. Gardiner to work on some investments they were sharing.

When Elizabeth left, she threw her family and friends into turmoil. She had left a long letter to her father that he shared with Darcy. That letter contained much more than the letters for each of her sisters that she had apparently written sitting in that library while the denizens of Netherfield danced, but it did not have the crucial piece of the narrative. To nobody did she give the _real true reason _for her precipitous departure. It turned out that Mrs. Bennet probably precipitated it by demanding Elizabeth either seek a husband or seek another place to live, but both her father and Darcy believed that changed nothing but the timing of the event.

Elizabeth had left her father a choice of several stories he could use to explain her absence, and they eventually decided on the simplest to tell and keep straight. An express had come in with news of an illness by a distant but important relative, and Elizabeth had left to tend her. The whole thing had seemed entirely inadequate to Darcy, but that was only because he had not observed the master at work.

The Lucases had been visiting by the time the two gentlemen finished conferring, and Mr. Bennet went to join their discussion. A half‑hour later, both the male and female gossip circuits in Meryton were awash with the details of Elizabeth's ill relative, and certain that all would work out well. The possibility of the vaguely identified relative being wealthy was hinted at, and by the time a week had passed, the deed was done. The departure of Elizabeth Bennet had been explained, and speculation was rampant about how sick the relative was, when an inheritance might be available, and if the second Bennet daughter would return at all.

Not knowing exactly how to reconcile the loss of Elizabeth, Darcy had spent quite a lot of time, somewhat surprisingly with Caroline Bingley, who seemed to be just as desolate as he was. They found out almost immediately that they both liked the after-Elizabeth versions of each other quite a lot, and that they had not the slightest hint of romantic feelings between them. For the gentleman, the lady may as well have been his sister, and for the lady, she had not the vaguest idea of what she had ever seen in him in the first place. They were now quite good friends. Darcy occasionally teased her about being on the shelf, and she replied that he was so much worse that he could only on good and restful nights dream of his glory days on the shelf long ago.

* * *

Darcy found the copse that contained a substantial meadow and ran his horse for quite some time. He firmly believed man and beast both enjoyed the exercise, but he had guests coming, so after a half‑hour, he returned to Darcy house in time for a bath and change of clothes and was in the yellow parlor with his sister when his guests arrived.

"Bennet, it is good to see you. Jane… Bingley… Lydia… Lina."

"Darcy. Georgiana. It is good to be here."

"Georgiana, we are to visit Uncle Gardiner before the day is out. He has some new fabrics like we have never seen."

"Is that a wrinkle, Fitzie?"

The usual pleasantries were exchanged for a few minutes, and then the group went into breakfast, which was a lively affair, practically as noisy as the Bennet dinner table.

After their repast, the group returned to the yellow parlor, where Georgiana, Lydia and Lina huddled together to discuss dresses or some similar subject, while Darcy and Bennet gave serious consideration to a chess game.

They were just about to get off the sofa and commence the slaughter, when the butler entered the room and announced, "Colonel Fitzwilliam," and pandemonium erupted.


	25. The Yellow Parlor

Richard Fitzwilliam, lately of His Majesty's Hussars, could have made faster progress by crawling into the room. As it was, he limped in with one hand resting heavily on the butler's shoulder, who seemed to think nothing of it, and a cane.

"**RICHARD!,**" came the scream of joy from Georgiana Darcy, and the young lady was across the room like a shot, only to pull up short a few paces away when she saw that her cousin was only partially able to walk and barely able to stand.

"Well, Georgiana… is that all I get," the gentleman laughed, and she then went up and gingerly wrapped her arms around his waist to give him a quick peck on the cheek, before burying her face in his waistcoat.

"Oh Richard, we were sure you were dead. Why did you not write? Come sit. Come sit down right now."

Darcy had by then come over to replace the butler in supporting his cousin. His greeting was more sedate, but no less heartfelt.

"Welcome Home, Richard! Welcome Home, Indeed! Come… sit. Let us introduce you."

"Thank you, Darcy. It is good to be home. Is that Charlie Bingley?"

Bingley had by then joined the Colonel, and in a much more circumspect manner than his usual, replied, "Colonel, still a scoundrel I see?"

The colonel laughed heartily, and Bingley joined him, while everyone else but Darcy looked on in confusion.

Darcy said, "Enough! You look to be in pain. Pick your poison."

"The blue sofa, if you please."

Darcy and Bingley helped the Colonel over, until with a great heaving sigh of contentment, the man sank down into the chair. Lina very quietly asked if there was anything she could do for his comfort, and he smiled, thanked her and indicated all was well.

Georgiana jumped up and down a few times, looked sternly at him, and asked, "Where have you been, Richard. It is bad enough you have been gone two years, but no letter for the last four months seems a bit much."

The Colonel looked at her fondly, and calmly replied, "Are you out yet, Georgiana? Is there still time to learn proper etiquette beforehand, or am I too late?"

Georgiana's deep blush coinciding with his great laugh would have been a wonderful release of tension, if the soldier had not started coughing ferociously.

When he got back on a solid footing, he said, "Forgive me Georgie. I have been in hospital for months, and we take our amusement where we can get it."

The mood of the room took a definite chill, but the Colonel looked around and said, "Enough! No more maudlin thoughts. Might you introduce me to your friends, Georgie?"

Georgiana stood up and replied, "Well, all right… but you will sit there."

"I am convinced."

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, may I make you known to my good friends. This is Mr. Bennet, of Longbourn in Hertfordshire."

"Well met, Colonel. It is an honor to meet you."

"Mr. Bennet. Are you the father of that girl Darcy has been mooning over for two years?"

Darcy tried to look at him severely, but everyone in the room just laughed.

"Yes, Sir. Guilty as charged. Here you have my eldest daughter Mrs. Bingley, and my youngest, Lydia."

Jane and Lydia stood up and curtsied, while Jane took the duty of answering, "A pleasure, Colonel."

"Likewise, ladies. Bingley, well done."

Jane blushed at the directness of the statement, while the Colonel hardly seemed to notice.

Bingley stood up, and added, "And my sister, Caroline, though we all call her Lina."

The Colonel looked at her with appreciation in his eyes, and replied, "Miss Bingley, a pleasure."

"The privilege is mine, Colonel."

Once everyone sat down, and Richard was offered and declined refreshment, Georgiana ran out of patience.

"All right, Richard. Four months! We have not heard anything except that you still lived after the last battle for four months. Explain yourself."

Not perturbed by the outburst, the Colonel said, "Did you get my letters?"

"I got the first one, but it was not in your hand."

"Yes, one of the nurses wrote that for me. My hand was… not capable of writing at the time, and even now, it is almost as bad as Bingley's."

Georgiana gasped and looked at the offending hand, only to see a band of scars doing all the way across the back, and one finger that did not point in the correct direction.

Looking wistfully inward as he looked down at his hand folded on his lap, he said, "She kept me alive, that nurse. Kept all of us alive. It was…"

Everyone could recognize it as a solemn moment and said nothing until the Colonel took a deep breath and continued.

"Could you read the letter at all? She had to write dozens in those first few weeks, but she always did so cheerfully, and I thought she had a good hand."

"I could read some of it, but it was water damaged on the way over, so the handwriting was barely decipherable. I got one more that was entirely destroyed, and no more."

"Drat, I had her write two more, and I wrote one myself."

"Where were you?"

"You could not even read that?"

The Colonel just shook his head in wonder at the army's inability to do one simple thing, and finally replied, "They are calling it Waterloo. To me, it was just a massive afront to all that is human."

He seemed to lose himself for a moment, and forgot that there were ladies present, before continuing.

"It was awful… the worst battle I have ever been in. I got it all in less than five minutes. Shrapnel, bullet and bayonet. All three in one surprise attack."

Everyone gasped, and he continued, "That surgeon and the nurse… well, they saved dozens of us. They worked themselves to the bone, day and night. Many dozen were beyond their reach."

Shaking himself, he looked around and asked sheepishly, "I apologize ladies. This is not a discussion for your ears."

Somewhat surprising, the entirely mild looking Mrs. Bingley spoke to him quite sharply.

"We will have none of that, Colonel. May I presume this nurse was a woman? If she can _experience it_, then I think we can _hear about it_. You will be surprised at how resilient we can be."

The Colonel laughed in amusement.

Darcy replied, "Do not let her complacent looks fool you, Richard. I can tell you from experience that it is best to be on the good side of the Bennet ladies."

Richard laughed again, and said, "Well then, if you insist, I shall tell you."

"Please do, Colonel."

"I was part of a cavalry force that was cut down by more than half. We achieved our objectives, but at a very high cost…"

He faded out for a moment, before continuing.

"We lost over half our men, and those left were in terrible shape. Some of us were dragged into a local farmhouse where a surgeon and three nurses had set up business. After that, it was chaos. The nurses were running ragged, and the surgeon worked for a night and a day without stopping. Saved a lot of lives. They almost gave up on me… which would have been sensible, but one of the nurses could beat a stone in a stubbornness contest and have enough left over for a mule. She brought me back from the dead."

Bennet replied, "For that, they shall have our eternal thanks. What happened next, Colonel."

"The battle ended soon after that, as far as the Kings and Generals were concerned. Napoleon was defeated, and the war was over. It seemed a reasonable cost to them. What is 60,000 casualties when you are not one of them."

The bitterness of the tone put a damper on the mood of the entire assembly, which the Colonel hardly noticed as he continued.

"I was left in one field hospital with nearly 400 wounded spread across a series of tents and farmhouses. Then it was just a slow grind. Every day, a few boys out to the graveyard, and a few back home. Next day, a few to the graveyard, a few new ones coming in, and a few went home. Those of us that survived did our best to help the nurses that were keeping us alive. In the end, I was one of the last to go home. There were less than a dozen left with just the surgeon and the last remaining nurse when I left."

Nobody quite knew what to say to that, so the Colonel continued.

"Oddest thing! Funny coincidence and all that."

"What is that, Colonel?" asked Miss Bingley, who was apparently the only one brave enough to disturb him.

"That nurse… I could swear I got her the occupation in the first place. It was years ago, when I was a Captain. She found me through some sort of connection… friend of a friend of a relative. Asked me how to become a nurse with a remote posting. I asked around, gave her a name and forgot all about her… until I found her popping my dislocated shoulder back in."

"Extraordinary!"

Nobody was certain who said it, but the sentiment was shared universally.

The Colonel thought a few more minutes before continuing.

"I could have stayed another month, but I wanted to do something for her… for that nurse that kept so many of us alive. I thought I might ask my father to set up an annuity. Keeping his son and a few dozen others alive should be worth foregoing a few rounds of cards."

The last was said with a bitterness that nobody could mistake. He was the one fighting for King and Country while his eldest brother was burning through much of the family fortune in gaming hells.

Darcy, said somewhat stridently, "You will not ask your father or your worthless brother for a farthing, Richard. I will see to this nurse. It shall be my honor and greatest pleasure. How shall I find her?"

"She will be there for two more months, then I have no idea, and she seemed uncertain herself. She might just settle there."

"Does she know what you are about?"

"No… I thought I should see to it before I boasted of it. I left one last letter with her to mail if I never made it home."

Georgiana and Lydia gasped, and the Colonel just looked at them with a kindly expression and asked gently, "Do you wish to be excused from this conversation? It would show some good sense."

Surprisingly, it was Lydia who answered.

"No, Colonel. I think you for both your kindness, your care for us, and for your honesty. We appreciate not being treated like nickninnies just because we are girls."

The Colonel harrumphed, and said, "Fear not, ladies. Your sex was quite adequately represented on the battlefield, and you will never hear me disparage women's courage. You are all probably stronger than you think you are."

His speech was interrupted by a scratch at the door. When Georgiana called for entry, the nursery maid stepped into the door, curtsied, and said, "Begging your pardon, Ma'am. You asked me to bring the little one when she awoke. Should I do so now?"

Jane smiled brightly, and said, "Yes, please bring her in Sally."

The Colonel had a hard time turning to face the door, so he just waited to see what Mrs. Bingley decided to do. It did not take long, as in about another minute, Mrs. Bingley was standing in front of him bending over with a bundle in her arms.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, may I present to your acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth Bingley."

Much to the Colonel's surprise, the next moment, Mrs. Bingley carefully laid the bundle in his arms, then took his other hand to wrap around to hold her secure, and then she just stepped back leaving the child in his care.

"She likes you, Colonel."

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked down at the little blue-eyed bundle of sunshine in his arms and felt a joy that had been almost entirely absent from his life for far too long. He put his finger in the tiny little hand and felt her grasp it while he grinned at the little girl like a fool.

Mrs. Bingley, apparently not the least concerned with her daughter's safety calmly walked back over to sit with her husband, who was not _quite _so sanguine about the situation, but not likely to contradict his wife.

Mrs. Bingley continued, "She is just three months old, Colonel. We call her 'Little Lizzie' in honor of her aunt, who is away from home at the moment."

The Colonel, completely entranced, cooed at the little girl, who had apparently had enough excitement for the moment and went right back to sleep.

Without looking away, the Colonel said, "Lizzy… an interesting diminutive. The nurse I was telling you about apparently was called that at one time."

Everyone stared at him, but Darcy was the one to ask, "Lizzy?"

"Yes, well I did not call her that, but some of the men who were very young… boys, really. She let them call her 'Lizzy'. I always thought some of them were probably French, but we all looked the other way. She quite doted on them."

While Darcy was lost in contemplation, Mr. Bennet took up the questioning.

"You say you did not call her that, Colonel?"

The Colonel was back to being distracted by Little Lizzy, and he answered somewhat absently, "Oh no, we were afraid of her."

"Afraid!"

The outburst had come from the group in general, so the Colonel laughed a bit, then carried on quite nonchalantly.

"Oh yes, you did not want to get on her bad side. One time, a Sargent was feeling poorly, and took it out on one of the youngsters I mentioned. Screamed at the poor boy until he cried. The Sargent got a lesson in just how loooooonnnnnnnggggg it can take to remove a bandage if you are not in a hurry. You could not fault our nurse's manners, though. She apologized quite profusely for hurting him… seventeen times."

Everyone in the group laughed at that, and the Colonel warmed to his storytelling.

"I saw her dress down the Earl of Montfort one time. He came in wearing a filthy bandage, dropped off a couple of injured, and went to leave still with the filthy bandage. At least that was his plan until our nurse got hold of him. She said…"

He looked around at all the ladies faces in the crowd, stumbled to a halt, and finally muttered, "Let us just say that he left with a clean bandage and what was left of his pride."

Everyone laughed at that, but Mr. Bennet was not quite finished.

"So, you did not call this wondrous creature 'Lizzy'. What did you call her?"

Absolute silence greeted the question, and the Colonel began to wonder what was afoot.

"Nurse Dashwood, of course. We all either respected her, feared her or both… though she was just the sweetest woman on this Earth if you were on her good side. Once I made a blanket statement that women could not play strategy games like Chess as well as men, and she took a piece of my pride out and buried it in the mud behind the tent that I still have not recovered."

The Colonel was chuckling at the memory of the encounter, while everyone else was sitting forward in their seats.

Darcy started to speak, but Mr. Bennet held his hand, so he yielded the floor.

"Colonel, 'Dashwood' is the name of two sisters in a novel called 'Sense and Sensibility'. Is it possible that was not that nurse's _original_ name?"

The Colonel looked around at everyone staring at him like a prisoner on the dock.

"Nursing is a _terrible_ business, Mr. Bennet. They see more death in a day than most of us see in a lifetime. In many ways, I think it is worse than battle. At least we get to fight back. It is however, one of the few honorable ways a gentlewoman can earn a living if she feels a need to leave her home and decides to forego or delay marriage. So, let us just say that perhaps her name is not 'Dashwood'. We take what we can get, and do not care a whit if their name is what they were born with."

Darcy, wanting to get into the fray, said, _"Richard! Describe her!"_

Wondering what all the fuss was about, Fitzwilliam continued.

"Well, she is a couple inches short of Georgiana's height. Brown hair. Very pretty… a bit rumpled by her duties, but always well put out. Nicest woman in the world if you are on her good side. Meanest if you are not."

Lydia somewhat surprisingly interjected into the conversation with, "Colonel, you can see what we are getting at, can you not?"

"No, cannot say that I can."

Mr. Bennet replied to the Colonel's confusion, "You see, Sir. My daughter, who left home for mysterious reasons of her own, is named Bennet… _Elizabeth_ Bennet, but we all call her '_Lizzy'_. She read that novel less than a month before she departed. She is the height you described, has the hair you described, and the fiery temper… well…"

Lydia jumped in and said, "I can assure you, Sir. Lizzy has enough temper for a dozen nurses."

That assertion broke some of the tension, and everyone relaxed into their seats, with the idea that they might just be onto something.

Lydia continued with, "Can you tell us something else about her Colonel. You were around her for months. Something she says, or something she does that would be distinct?"

Surprised by the sensibility of the question, everyone around the couches started nodding in agreement.

The Colonel thought about it, and said, "Most of what she says could easily attributable to any woman. She was better educated than most, though. She would slip in quotations from literature just for her own amusement sometimes. Half of them were so obscure Darcy would hardly recognize them. She was without doubt gently born and bred. She knows quite a lot about estates. We had a boy who grew up on a pig farm, and she spoke intelligently about the business for hours with him. She was ruthless in Chess and Backgammon. She would smile sweetly at you, act as dumb as a rock, and then sweep in and crush you when you became complacent."

Bennet laughed and replied, "She sounds an awful lot like either my Lizzy, or someone I would equally like to be acquainted with, Colonel."

The Colonel said, "It is easy enough to find out. Darcy, you were going to give her an annuity. Go find her. I presume you will recognize her if she turns out to be your Miss Bennet, and if not, you have business with her anyway."

Everyone laughed a bit, and the Colonel thought about it a bit more.

"I do have one mannerism that I think might be hers alone, although it seems unlikely any of you would have heard it in her original home. It is a sort of saying… something she said reverently… but it is not something likely to come up in normal conversation. It only applies to distressing situations."

"Do tell, Colonel."

"Well, you see. She had an affinity for the youngsters, the boys that were much younger than her and really should not have been there in the first place. I told you she encouraged them to call her 'Lizzy' or 'Miss Lizzy' if they were not quite capable of that level of familiarity."

"Yes"

"Well, when one of them went home, she always said the same thing. She would say something like, 'Go home, Samuel. Be a good man. Live a good and honorable life, and when it gets difficult, as I assure you it will sooner or later, please remember that I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you."

"**WHAT DID YOU SAY?"**

Everyone looked around in shock at Georgiana who had jumped up from her chair and shouted the last question.

"**Repeat that last part, Richard.**"

Wondering exactly what was going on, Richard gave up on understanding, and repeated, _"remember that I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you."_

To everyone's complete shock, Georgiana yelled, "**HER! IT'S HER!**" and then bolted from the room with tears in her eyes while everyone else looked on in confusion.


	26. The Schoolroom

"Georgie?"

Darcy looked around the long‑abandoned schoolroom on the second floor of their townhouse and was rewarded by Georgiana stepping out from behind a cabinet.

"You always know where to find me, Brother."

Darcy chuckled, and replied, "It is not that difficult. You always come here when you are upset."

He looked carefully at his sister and saw that she had been crying for the past quarter‑hour. He could have easily found her sooner since he knew exactly where she was going, but he had chosen to give her some time to put herself back together without so much embarrassment.

"I imagine everyone thinks me quite mad?"

"No, Georgiana. Everyone is concerned about you. They are, I must admit, as curious as I am about what you meant by that outburst, but content in the knowledge that they will learn what they need to know when they need to know it."

"I am not so certain."

"Come… sit with me."

Brother and sister met together in the middle of the room and sat down on a pair of rocking chairs that had originally been set up for mothers and nursemaids (and the occasional father) to rock children. Both had been in the room for generations, and probably would be for at least one more.

Unsure of themselves, they both simply rocked for a few minutes, while Darcy waited patiently for his sister to speak.

"I suppose you are wondering just what in the world I meant?"

"I am, but I believe you will enlighten me in time. Can I presume that you have actually met Miss Elizabeth?"

Georgiana nodded a few times, lost in thought, before she finally replied, "Yes… twice."

"And…"

Darcy did not really know how to continue, but finally said, "You know you need not tell me Georgiana, but I would prefer you do so. A burden shared is a burden halved."

Georgiana made a bit of a strangled sound, and replied, "Not always, Brother! Sometimes a burden shared is a burden doubled. It depends on the nature of the burden and who you share it with."

She paused, tears forming in her eyes again, while Darcy waited patiently.

Finally, she said, "She taught me that."

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"Yes… _I feel so __stupid__!_ Two years! For two years, the truth has been sitting here staring me in the face. Two years of clues I ignored… two years of stupidity… two years of…"

She just ran out of words, and finally said, "I… I… Fitzwilliam, I do not know what to do."

"Allow me to help, Georgiana."

"It is not that simple."

Darcy slid out of his rocker to sit on the floor in front of his sister, took her hands in his, and replied, "Actually, Georgie… it is that simple. Whatever it is, you can trust me. No matter what you say, no matter what was done, no matter how bad it is; I will do my best to make things better."

Georgiana stared at him for a moment, and finally just nodded her head.

"Get Mr. Bennet, Brother. Let me clean myself up and I will meet you in your study in a quarter hour."

* * *

"Miss Darcy, how may I be of service."

Georgiana looked at Mr. Bennet. The gentleman was quite good friends with her brother, and of course she was very intimate with his daughters, so she had met him on many occasions, and spent a surprising amount of time at Longbourn.

"Mr. Bennet… I… well, sir. I do not quite know where to begin. I feel so stupid that I never put two and two together. The answer has been staring me in the face all this time."

Chuckling, Mr. Bennet said, "It does not matter how smart you think you are or where you begin. Sometimes it is easiest to start in the middle and work both ways."

Darcy added, "Georgie, I presume there is something enormous you have to tell us, but perhaps it is all too big to chip off in one big piece. You say you met Miss Elizabeth twice. Perhaps you could start with something easier… perhaps you can tell me about one of the meetings… the easier one."

Georgiana sighed, and replied, "That sounds like I am avoiding the unpleasantness."

Mr. Bennet replied, "There is plenty of time for that, Miss Darcy. Let us just make a beginning."

Georgiana took a huge breath, then steadied herself and began.

"Well, Sir… Brother. I shall talk about the second and last time I met her."

"Agreed. Proceed at your own pace, Miss Darcy."

"Well, Sir. I believe Miss Bennet… Elizabeth… well… she outplayed me. She outplayed me quite badly. She met me about a week after I returned from Ireland, which I believe was a fortnight after she left Hertfordshire. I walked in Hyde Park, and she simply walked up beside me and started talking as if we were well known to each other."

"So, you did not know who she was."

"No, Sir. I will explain why in a moment and it will all make sense. Now that I have worked out her motives, I believe she found me specifically just to convince me that she was well. Now that I think about it, I believe she did not precisely _lie_ to me, but she said something she deliberately wanted me to interpret in a particular way, and just let me stumble to her preferred conclusion on my own."

Mr. Bennet chuckled and replied, "She does that quite frequently, I am afraid. You are not her first victim. What did she say?"

"Well, Sir. She told me she was leaving the country, and I was not to worry about her. I can remember it exactly. She said, _'I am leaving my home on my own terms, going to a place I want to go to do something I want to do.'_"

Georgiana sighed, and said, "I was unsatisfied with that, so I somewhat impertinently asked her '_why'?_"

"Yes, I can see. Very impertinent, these one‑word questions."

Georgiana grinned a bit at that, knowing full well the aged father was trying to make her feel better.

"Yes, well I think that is where she decided to fool me. She strongly implied she was to be married. She said, _'I met the best man I have ever known. He is honorable, kind, forthright, thoughtful and best of all, implacably stubborn.'_ From that, what was I to assume?"

Mr. Bennet said, "Do not feel bad, Miss Darcy. Elizabeth has fooled me quite a bit more often than you, and I was not born yesterday."

Darcy, feeling as if he had been poleaxed walked over to his desk, pulled out the letter, returned to the group, handed it to Georgiana, and said, "Read it! Both of you. Please."

Feeling unsure of herself, Georgiana moved from her chair to sit beside Mr. Bennet so they could both read it together. By the time she was finished, she was crying, saying, "Word for word… Word for word… That means… that means… that…"

She looked over at her brother with a combination of sympathy and understanding, and finally said, "She as much as said she is in love with you, Fitzwilliam."

"Yes, she did. I had hoped… prayed… dreamed… but…"

He trailed off and found himself crying right alongside his sister.

The group sat there quietly for several minutes, and Georgiana finally sighed heavily, and said, "I cannot put it off any longer. It is time."

Mr. Bennet replied, "Go ahead, young lady. I would hope you feel safe enough here."

Georgiana took a deep breath, and said, "Well, Sir. Let me start by warning you that I am going to acquaint you with two _very_ shameful events. You may well wish to reconsider whether you want your daughters to associate with me."

"Miss Darcy, may I ask a question?"

"Yes, Sir. Of course."

"Would you, under any conditions deliberately do something to harm my daughters."

Gasping, Georgiana said, "Of course not, Sir."

"All right, second question. Would you through fear, malice, laziness or any other character flaw allow any of my daughters to come to harm that you could prevent."

She just looked down, and replied, "No, Sir… but it is not that simple."

Mr. Bennet slid closer to her and took both her hands in his much older ones, and said, "That is where you are wrong, Miss Darcy. It is that simple. People make mistakes and others are harmed by them. That is life, but malice… well, that I cannot abide. You _will_ have the same association with my daughters tomorrow that you had yesterday, regardless of what you tell me now. I can assure you of that."

Georgiana nodded, and said, "Well, let me get to my first bit of shame, Mr. Bennet. I am about to tell you something I promised faithfully I would never reveal to another living soul. I am going to break the most solemn promise I ever made in my life."

Squeezing her hands tighter, Mr. Bennet replied, "Miss Darcy, please do not take this amiss, but I believe you are suffering from one of the many maladies of youth. You think too much in absolutes. Life is rarely simple. It is rarely unambiguous. A promise broken is not always a bad thing. You cannot tie your life down by something you thought to be true at one time. Every day, you need to be able to _look at the world as it is, not how you think it is or once thought it would be. _Sometimes this means you must do something that you might have found to be wrong before. May I take it that you have decided that the amount of good in the world could be increased, or the amount of bad reduced, by breaking your promise?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, my girl, think of the promise as something like a little creature. It lived its life well, it performed its duties as required, and now it might be time for it to end its usefulness. Does that make sense?"

Georgiana just nodded, though she could not look at the gentleman.

Mr. Bennet looked at the young heiress, and could tell that she was thoroughly discomfited, and might well fall apart before the end of the interview, so thought a bit of humor might help.

"Now, you can tell us the one thing that you are _really_ trying to convey. Tell me, Child. You are safe from my censure. I can hardly believe it could be so terrible anyway. It is not as if you killed someone."

He expected something of a small smile, but instead, what little expression had been on the young lady's face disappeared entirely. She turned pale and her countenance became as flat as it could possibly be.

Staring at him in earnest, she drew in a deep breath, blew it out, drew one more and continued.

"No, Sir. I did not kill anyone… _Miss Elizabeth did._ She killed a former childhood friend of my brother named George Wickham."

Startled gasps came from both gentlemen, and Mr. Bennet slid back into his chair looking pale himself, while Darcy jumped up and replaced Mr. Bennet by falling to his knees in front of Georgiana and taking her hands, ready to reassure her, but he did not have the vaguest idea what to say.

* * *

Several minutes passed in stunned silence before Miss Darcy managed to call up her courage and began the tale.

"In the summer of year twelve, when I was fifteen, I visited Ramsgate with my then companion, Mrs. Younge. I had just been taken from school, which was a horrid place. I was feeling lonely, left out and… please to not take this as criticism William, but unloved. No, that sounds like excuses, and I do not want to do that."

Being well aware of his deficiencies earlier, Darcy replied, "No offense taken, Georgiana. We both know what those years were like, and you have nothing to be ashamed of."

Georgiana nodded, and said, "While I was there, I met seemingly _'quite by chance',_ Mr. Wickham. Mrs. Younge allowed us considerable time alone together with the excuse that he was practically family. I later came to believe she was in an evil scheme with him. We met quite often, and… and… and… well, I now understand he was a practiced seducer, but I knew nothing of such creatures at the time. He came to convince me we were in love, and he spent several weeks encouraging me to elope."

Darcy growled, but Georgiana did not think she could begin again if he said anything, so she just squeezed his hands and implored him to silence.

Darcy nodded for her to continue.

"I had not actually decided, but I very foolishly agreed to meet him alone early one morning near the seawall over the cliffs. We talked for some time, and he kept asking me more and more stridently to elope, and then finally… finally… finally…"

Darcy saw her eyes lose their focus as if she were staring at something far-far away.

After some time, Georgiana, completely disregarding copious tears streaming from her eyes, and continued with a shaking voice.

"Eventually, he lost his patience, or perhaps became desperate. He said, _'If you will not accept the easy way, Georgiana, we shall have to use the hard way.'_ Then he grabbed me about the waist, manhandled me behind a hedgerow, threw me to the ground, lifted my dress and started unbuttoning his fall. I tried to fight back, but… but… well, I imagine he might have done that before, because he managed to pin me down and no amount of scratching and hitting could dislodge him. I only managed a small scream before he stuffed a glove into my mouth, but that was enough for Miss Elizabeth to hear."

Both gentlemen were by now crying along with the young lady, while simultaneously flexing their fists and grinding their teeth in impotent rage.

"She ran through the hedge like an avenging goddess. Oh my, was she fierce! I have never seen the like. She knocked him off me using his own walking stick, but he was tougher than he looks. He jumped up and hit her on the side of the head with a blow I thought would certainly kill her. She stumbled back and cut her leg quite badly."

By now, the young lady was shaking like a leaf, but she continued as bravely as she could.

"She came back up and set out to defend both of us. He was swinging his fist directly at her face, and she swung the walking stick quite desperately. It connected with his ear, then he went down and seemed to be unconscious."

"Unconscious, you say?"

"I wanted to check, Mr. Bennet, but she would not allow it. She is lightning fast in her thinking. She told me I could not look at him, and as far as I knew, he was unconscious. I started to introduce myself, but she would not allow us to know anything about each other. She said she desperately wished I had not said my name."

Darcy squeezed her hand, but still had nothing to add.

"You see, Sir, she was, and probably still is, deathly afraid of the law. People hang for far less every day, right there in Ramsgate. She told me to go home, clean myself up, get rid of my companion subtly, and live a good life. That's where I heard her line about being in the world thinking about someone. She said it me exactly as she said it to you, Fitzwilliam, and to all those soldiers."

Mr. Bennet took a shuddering breath, and asked, "So she specifically instructed you not to look, and yet you assert he is dead. How do you know?"

"Because what was left of the scoundrel washed up on the beach the next day. I read about it in the papers. She must have dragged him to the seawall and thrown him in. I cannot imagine what it took to do that. You have seen her. She is the size of a mouse, and that scoundrel was as large as you are, Brother. Yet somehow, she managed to get him into the ocean."

Both gentlemen were sitting by then with their mouths hanging open, trying to picture it.

Mr. Bennet finally asked, "She was quite badly injured in Ramsgate. She said she had an accident where a path collapsed under her feet and she rolled down a slope of rocks. Might she have fallen in whilst throwing this Wickham fellow to the fish?"

"Oh! No sir! If she went off there, she would be dead, not injured. It is a good dozen yards straight down to the first shelf of rocks, and another dozen to the surf."

Mr. Bennet sat trying to work it out, but Darcy answered first.

"A smokescreen."

"I beg your pardon."

"A smokescreen. That is what she did. She had at least two highly suspicious injuries and probably torn clothing. I am guessing she staged the accident to hide her other injuries. It is hard to notice one cut or bruise among many."

Georgiana stared at him, and asked, "She deliberately nearly killed herself?"

Mr. Bennet replied, "Perhaps her scheme worked too well."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, going through the sequence that must have occurred.

Finally, Darcy said, "You say you told her your name, Georgiana, but she would not tell you hers."

"Yes. She said that I could be convicted of perjury if I lied about what happened, but I could not lie if I did not know anything. She told me quite strenuously that we were not to know each other. We were never to meet, and if we happened to encounter each other, we would look the other way."

Mr. Bennet chuckled and said, "She is right about the perjury, you know. I do not know if I was a good or bad father, but I allowed her to learn those things. She is also right that she well could have been hanged for it, regardless of how much the cretin deserved it. She must have been well and truly terrified. How did she hide it for so long? How did I not see it and know something was vastly amiss? I fear your boasts about your stupidity have been bested, Miss Darcy. I shall now claim the mantle."

Darcy was sitting thinking hard, and finally sat up straight abruptly, and said, "It all makes sense. Blast it all, it makes perfect sense. _Everything about her now makes perfect sense!_ What a bloody fool I am."

Bennet asked, "What makes sense, Son?"

"Remember that day I came to apologize?"

"I remember the most diverting day of my life… although now that I understand what happened, I should probably feel guilty about it."

Darcy nodded, and replied, "Yes… well, the night of the assembly…"

"Not your finest moment, Son! Probably not even your second finest… but if Elizabeth will not hear another apology, I will not either."

"That was not my intention, Sir. That night, she was _laughing_ at my ridiculousness, _until she heard __my__name__._ Then she pulled her disappearing act and started that whole dance."

Mr. Bennet rubbed his chin in thought, before resuming.

"So, I presume she spent the next six weeks trying and failing to not fall in love with you with a shadow of the hangman across her path the entire time. She must have been terrified nearly every minute of your sojourn. She probably felt a fair bit of shame as well. _'Thou shalt not kill'_ is drummed into our heads quite thoroughly. That was why she feared the woods. That is the cause for her obsession with propriety. That is why she moved away from Jane and towards Mary. Yes, Son… it all makes perfect sense in hindsight."

"Yes, Sir. Now I understand why she was so hot and cold. How she managed to be in my presence enough for us to fall in love, I have no idea… but it did happen."

Mr. Bennet belatedly pulled out two handkerchiefs from his pocket and handed one to Darcy. He sat in contemplative silence for a couple of minutes, wiping his eyes, then finally stirred and said, "Well, we know where she is and why. I only have one question for you, Son."

"I am at your disposal, Mr. Bennet."

With a chuckle, Mr. Bennet calmly asked, "Why are you still here?"


	27. Hyde Park

On the sixth hour of the sixth and last day the lady was willing to spend on her hunt, her quarry appeared. The hunter was waiting in a stand of trees behind a meat pie seller with a good view across the road to the townhouse. The target exited the house, thankfully with only a footman trailing discreetly a dozen steps behind, and ambled over to the park, so it was easy to walk up beside her, walk along for a few steps, and start speaking.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss Darcy. Do not acknowledge me, just keep walking."

"**YOU!**"

Georgiana Darcy had no idea whether she should be thrilled or terrified to meet her rescuer from the previous summer, so she really could not come up with anything after that initial exclamation. Fortunately, her conversation was not truly required.

"Fear not, Madam. I have come to make your life easier, not harder. Will you hear me out?"

"Of course! I do so wish you would tell me your name or let me help you. I can assure you, I can be trusted. Not a living soul knows about…"

"I know that! I am not worried. I just wanted to relieve _you_ of _your_ worries."

"How?"

Elizabeth chuckled, and replied, "Be at ease. It is simple," but then she paused for a moment before continuing.

"I would like you to maintain your silence, but primarily for your own benefit. Nothing is to be gained by revelations now."

"I reluctantly agree. I cannot imagine telling anyone anyway. I… well, I hope this does not sound like cowardice, but _I just cannot. _My brother and guardian is the very best of men, completely trustworthy and well connected… but I have nightmares about trying to tell him. They are not as common as they were at first, but…"

Elizabeth took her arm and replied, "I had them as well… for months, but it is better now, no?"

"Yes, better… but I still cannot imagine…"

"Neither can I, to be honest. I can barely stop thinking about it, but I cannot abide to think of the looks I would get from people who love me should they find out the truth. No, ma'am, I will maintain my silence. Even… even…"

They walked on in silence another dozen yards, before the younger asked carefully, "Even when… what?"

Realizing she was woolgathering, Elizabeth continued.

"Miss Darcy… I should not say your name, and should not even know it, but now that I do, it would feel rude not to acknowledge it."

"You may call me anything you like. What shall I call you? It need not be your _actual _name."

"You may think of me as… Miss Price."

"I am pleased to finally meet you, Miss Price. I believe you were woolgathering though. Even when… what?"

Elizabeth laughed, and thought that she could as easily love this girl as she did her brother, but it was not to be.

"I came to tell you, Miss Darcy, that I will be leaving the reach of English Law and shall not return. You need no longer fear for my safety or my disclosure of our shared secret. I do not know if you worried about me, but… if you have, then put your mind at rest. I will be gone from England very soon."

Georgiana gasped. She had never expected to meet her savior again but had at least hoped she was safe and comfortable in her own home.

"But… but… but…"

Elizabeth tut‑tutted and with a small, sad smile, replied, "Do not fret, young lady. I have not been driven out by the savage hordes. _I am leaving my home on my own terms, going to a place I want to go to do something I want to do."_

Georgiana was confused, but trusted the older lady implicitly, so she simply took her at her word.

"How… when… well, why are you leaving?"

Elizabeth had thought long and hard about how to answer that question, and answered from her heart… well, the part of the heart containing the most guile anyway.

_"I met the best man I have ever known. He is honorable, kind, forthright, thoughtful and best of all, implacably stubborn."_

"He sounds much like my brother."

"Then look after your brother, Miss Darcy. He sounds like a treasure."

Georgiana spared a glance sideways at her companion and saw what she expected to see in her face.

"You are in love, Miss Price. Is that why you are leaving?"

"Yes, Miss Darcy. I am. I hope you find the same thing one day. I just have one more thing I would like to say, if you are willing to be advised by me one last time."

"I shall _hand it down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb_, Miss Price_."_

Elizabeth chuckled, and replied, "Some would call you foolish, Miss Darcy… and perhaps they would be right… but point me to anyone who has not been foolish too many times to count. What you were was unlucky, Miss Darcy. It could have happened to any of us. It happened to you, but that does not make you a bad person."

Georgiana nodded quietly, and felt tears falling from her eyes before finally saying, "I will try to believe it, Miss Price. It is difficult, but I will try."

"That is all I ask. Try, Miss Darcy. It is all any of us can do. Lead a good and honorable life. Find a good and honorable man and fill your home with mischievous children. I shall be content if at some time in your future you remember me, knowing in your heart that I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you."

"You said that in Ramsgate, Miss Price. Did you read that somewhere?"

"No, Miss Darcy. It just is a turn of phrase I dreamed up one day and could not let go."

"It is poetry, Miss Price."

Elizabeth nodded, tears falling from her own eyes, and said, "Goodbye, Miss Darcy. Take care of that brother you mentioned."

And then she was gone. Georgiana reached for a handkerchief, and when she glanced back up, her companion was gone as if she had never been there in the first place.

With a smile in her heart, and the first real lightening of her burden since Ramsgate, she turned around so she could, with almost no decorum at all, skip back to Darcy House and see if she could talk her brother out of the funk he had been sunk in for the past month since he left Hertfordshire after Mr. Bingley's ball.


	28. The Tea House

Feeling quite devious, Elizabeth had spent six months meticulously planning her possible exit, so when she arrived in London in in the middle of the afternoon of the twenty seventh of November, she settled herself into a boarding house and set out to find a way to live. She had enough money from the long‑lost‑unlamented 'GW' to last for several years, so she was not overly concerned. Her research for the first three months after Ramsgate had established that readily enough.

She was settled in a part of London where discovery was nearly impossible. London had over a million inhabitants, so avoiding the half‑dozen she was acquainted with was not that difficult. She had even managed to explore a few areas in London that had the supreme benefit of being somewhere that neither her uncle's family nor anyone of Mr. Darcy's class would ever travel, and yet were relatively safe and relatively comfortable. The owner of the boarding house was an elderly widow who ruled it with an iron fist, and her son was a good sort of man who was happy to walk with her for a very reasonable sum when she desired some shred of protection. It was a good place to live for the moment, but it could not last forever. While it was a good stop, it had the supreme disadvantage of being _inside_ of England.

The first thing she did upon arrival was exchange her dresses for something less conspicuous. She reckoned that she could become a lady again anytime she wanted by asking one of the other residents of the boarding house to help her dress, but for everyday life, a more practical dress would do. She procured the necessary items to look like anything from a milkmaid to a shop girl to a lady's maid, so she could blend into whatever part of the city she chose to explore.

When the appointed date arrived, she gave herself a week to find Miss Darcy and set her mind at ease. Had she failed, she would have written her a letter but judged it nearly impossible to safely commit what she wanted to convey to written form.

An earlier conversation with a friend of the aunt of the mother of the batman for a Captain in the army gave her the idea for a way she could travel from England at someone else's expense, and even be paid for her services. The idea was simple enough, so she set about meeting with this mysterious Captain to ask for his help.

It took nearly another fortnight to get the introduction, all of which she used in studying books from the circulating library. She thought many of the medical books sounded much more akin to witchcraft than medicine, but there were some few where they seemed on the verge of working out something big that was just tantalizingly out of reach.

At long last, the introduction was made in a tea shop near the headquarters for the army, only a week after her clandestine meeting with Miss Darcy.

"Captain Fitzwilliam, I thank you for meeting me."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Dashwood. I must say this is an unusual arrangement, but I imagine neither of us are particular sticklers for propriety, are we."

Elizabeth liked the gregarious Colonel. He reminded her slightly of Mr. Darcy, so she grinned and replied, "No, Captain. All evidence would suggest that we are not, Sir."

"Well said, Miss Dashwood. Tea?"

"It would be my pleasure, Captain."

The Captain ordered tea and biscuits, which were delivered by a serving girl that could not quite keep her eyes off the dashing officer. Elizabeth felt a momentary surge of homesickness for the silliness of her younger sister, but then clamped it down to get on with her business.

She did not want to be rude though, so they talked for some time about the commonplaces while the tea served its social function.

At long last, the Captain came to the point, "Now, I assume you wanted to meet me for a reason, Miss Dashwood. How may I help?"

Realizing the moment of truth was at hand, Elizabeth began her request.

"Captain, I would like to become an army nurse… outside of England. I have some minor experience, and I have been studying, so I believe I could make a good go of it."

The Captain stared at her in shock, and replied, "The army mostly makes nurses out of camp followers, but there is _some_ demand for professionals. Washington started the trend back in their revolt, so there might be a way. But let me ask you a question, Miss Dashwood. Have you the vaguest idea what that life is like? I would recommend anything but that for you."

Elizabeth tried to keep her temper in check, but with only limited success. She could feel her face heating up as she replied.

"Is it for you to decide, Captain? I see you do not seem to be intimidated by the need to do _your_ duty. Can you deny me the right to do mine?"

Fitzwilliam raised both hands quickly, saying, "Peace… peace… Miss Dashwood. Did I sound as condescending to you as I sounded to myself?"

Elizabeth had to chuckle at the man. He seemed to have a knack for escaping his own self‑inflicted wounds, which she judged might be handy in the heat of battle.

"Only if I sounded as shrewish to you as I did to myself."

The Captain chuckled, and said, "May I propose a truce, Miss Dashwood. For the moment, may we both assume we are mostly grown up, occasionally sensible, and can decide for ourselves how to spend our lives."

Elizabeth smiled broadly at the rascal. She wondered why the gentleman reminded her of Mr. Darcy but did not have time to fret about it.

"I agree, Captain. You are a rarity among men… someone who does not look down on our sex. That makes you the third such man I can claim acquaintance with."

"Ah, some exalted company I see. Who are these two other paragons?"

"Well, Sir. The first is my father, and the other is a gentleman I met recently… an estate owner from the North."

Fitzwilliam laughed, and said, "Well, Miss Dashwood, you have narrowed the scope admirably. You just described just about every gentleman I know. My father, my brother and all my cousins are estate owners in the North."

"Very well, Captain, I shall try to be more specific. He is a _tall_ estate owner from the North."

They both laughed a bit and felt quite comfortable for such new acquaintances and chuckled for a moment.

Finally, Captain Fitzwilliam asked, "Are you truly set on your course and impervious to reason, Miss Dashwood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And may I presume that if I do not help, you will simply find another."

"Yes, Sir."

The Captain sighed, and said, "I am off to the Americas, Miss Dashwood. I will be gone for a year or two. Apparently, the fools have declared war on England, so I must go to dissuade them. I cannot get you to there, but I do know a matron that is gathering nurses to go to Portugal for the battles against Napoleon's forces. If you are as stubborn as you look, I will put in a word for you."

"I compare favorably with a mule, Captain. I thank you for your assistance."

"You may well curse me for it before you are done, Miss Dashwood."

"Never, Captain!"

"Just wait, Miss… just wait. Now I must be off. I have your direction. I will talk to the matron directly, and then I do not believe we are likely to cross paths again."

"Thank you, Captain Fitzwilliam. Godspeed, and good fortune to you."

"And to you, Miss Dashwood."


	29. Portugal

As the ship docked in Lisbon, Elizabeth looked over the railing at the spring sunshine in wonder. She reflected in wonder that her first Easter spent from home would be spent in a foreign land. She occasionally wondered at what was happening at home. Had Mr. Collins found a victim for his matrimonial ambitions? Had Mr. Darcy abandoned Hertfordshire altogether? Did he keep company with her father? Was he at that moment visiting with his Aunt? He had mentioned he usually visited her at Easter, so it was comforting in a way to think of him ensconced in the home of the £800 windows. She wondered how much the glazing cost at Pemberley. For the first few months she had felt the most acute homesickness, but by the time she got to Lisbon, those feelings were mostly confined to the occasional middle of the night.

The past months had been more difficult than all the months that had preceded it in many ways, but in others they were easier. The difficulty was learning how to be a useful, productive member of society. She had been trained to be wife, mother, mistress of an estate. Finding it necessary to redirect her life had required certain adjustments, and not all the parts of her new life were as pleasant as some of the parts of her old life.

On the other hand, it was _liberating_ to be useful, to be someone that people relied on, to do something that _mattered_. Men might live or die by her hand, and the responsibility was quite heady in a way. She could be important… at least to the soldiers under her care.

Elizabeth was better educated and better informed than most of her previous compatriots, but still found the gap between what she knew and what there was to know to be enormous. Her country was at war, and she was contributing to that effort, which gave her some pride in her accomplishments. She had never felt that level of pride before, and she found she was loathe to give up. She wondered what the forge of war would do to her. Would it harden her, temper her or do something completely unexpected? Would she emerge the better or worse for her experience… or considering the amount of disease that followed any army, would she emerge at all?

There was also the somewhat unpleasant matter that it was going to get much worse before it got better. Most of her work and training so far was dealing with armed men in training. They got their share of camp fever and ordinary illness, plus the numerous training accidents that accompanied trying to turn rabble into soldiers, and everything in between. She had learned how to keep herself safe from the men when she was surrounded by them all the time and was somewhat heartened to see that among the officers and the ordinary enlisted men there were quite some number who realized being on a nurse's good side might be the difference between life and death one day. A few of the men would put a hand where it did not belong or say something that should not be said from time to time. Most often though, one of the nurses would be treating them for cuts and bruises the next day.

The trip across the channel had also taught her everything she ever wanted to know about seasickness, which consisted of two important facts. The first was that she was completely impervious to its effects and could go anywhere she wanted to go at any time on a ship. The other was that quite a number of the men were _not_ impervious, and the difference between a soldier suffering from seasickness and a colicky and badly tempered baby was difficult to distinguish. She did what she could for the poor souls, but that amounted to just about nothing.

Lisbon was a bustling port, full of noise and activity. She could hear what must have been every language known to man on the docks, and see ships coming in from all the far-flung parts of the world, carrying spices, food, trade goods and every other thing her imagination could conjure. She thought that certainly this must be the beginning of the biggest adventure of her life.

* * *

The first few weeks in the camps in Portugal were spent doing just about the same thing she had been doing in England, but they also acquainted her with some quite uncomfortable truths. Through listening carefully to what was said, and what was not said, she came to understand that the British army was _not_ entirely full of upright and upstanding gentlemen. In fact, some large parts of it were nothing more than common rabble, and the commanders had an impossible time keeping their behavior in any even reasonable approximation of civilized. She learned that it was not at all uncommon for soldiers to spend a lot of time in the pillory or the stockade, or a very short time at the end of a rope, but in between fighting, the men still did many things that were reprehensible. Was this the way of all fighting armies?

She learned that she just barely missed some of the bloodiest battles of the campaign so far. Right about the time she was talking to Miss Darcy in Hyde Park, the allied army had fought extremely bloody battles in Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, accounting for over 5,000 casualties, followed by some absolutely appalling behavior by the Allied Forces on the civilians of the towns that absolutely turned her stomach.

She spent several months being shuffled among various spots in Portugal as the forces continued minor and major attacks in Spain. Their position in Portugal was relatively secure, but they were having a difficult time trying to secure enough of Spain to make a route to attack the Grande Armée in France.

One day she was in the surgery wrapping up some cleaned bandages when she was suddenly accosted by an officer in a very mart looking uniform, who began without preamble.

"Nurse, I will need you to get this bloody thing out of me."

The times when mild curing bothered her were long past, so she gave the _obviously important officer_ an exaggerated curtsy, and then looked at the professed injury. She almost managed to stifle a giggle, but not quite, which did not endear her to the officer.

"Please, sit there, General. Shall I get the surgeon, or just hack away at it myself."

"None of your impertinence… just get on with it."

"Yes, Sir!"

Humming in mild amusement and to keep her concentration, Elizabeth started in on the injury, which amounted to a two-inch-long sliver driven into the back of the officer's thigh. By the standards of Elizabeth's earlier life, it hardly qualified as an injury at all, but perhaps not all the officers were as tough as they pretended.

A few minutes with a razor-sharp scalpel and tweezers had the offending wood out, and a few more minutes had the injury salved and bandaged.

"There you are, your exaltedness. I would ask you to have your batman keep it clean and change the bandage over the next few days."

The words were barely out of her mouth before she regretted him. The man was obviously of some import, and why he had not had his batman take care of the problem in the first place was a real mystery.

"I apologize, General. That was terribly impolite."

She was by then completely mortified and staring at the ground.

The General just laughed heartily, nearly rolling on the ground, saying, "I like you, Miss…?"

"Dashwood, Sir"

The General gave a little bow, and said, "A pleasure, Nurse Dashwood. As I was saying, nobody ever talks to me that way. I order you to keep it up."

Elizabeth perked up, and asked, "Very well, General. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name? It will establish bragging rights when I embellish the story of my heroism to everyone I know. I will try to at least keep you alive in the retelling, though."

The General laughed again, and replied, "I appreciate that. Arthur Wellesley, at your service. It is a pleasure, Miss Dashwood."

Elizabeth gulped, and turned even redder than the first time, since she had just been extremely impertinent to the Allied Commander, in charge of 120,000 men… and her.

"Do you mean Viscount Wellington, Sir?"

The general just chuckled and said, "None of that, Miss Dashwood. I find little enough impertinence as it is. You cannot imagine the fawning I endure. I would prefer not to stamp it out by my mere presence."

"Very well, General. May I ask an impertinent question?"

"Consider it your patriotic duty, Miss Dashwood?"

"It is a relatively minor injury, General. Why not just have your batman fix it?"

"Because he a gossip of the worst order, and the manner of acquiring the wound is… let us just say I would prefer this remain between us."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "I shall take it to the grave, Sir. I feel like a spy. Come back tomorrow and I shall see to it, General."

The general laughed, and said, "We are going back to Spain, Nurse Dashwood. You should come with us."

"I go where I am ordered, General."

He nodded, and said, "I shall see to it."


	30. Spain

The next few months taught nurse Elizabeth Dashwood all she would ever need to know about pain, suffering and death. She wondered at her naivete of her old life where killing a single scoundrel had caused such a fuss. She went where she was ordered and found there was plenty of death and destruction to go around, but also plenty of bravery and ambiguity. The real stakes of the war were difficult to evaluate. Was this a war of greed or survival? Was Napoleon savior or butcher? Was England threatened or inconvenienced? She had no way to be able to answer those questions with any certainty and wondered if the men leading the armies knew any better.

In the end, it eventually became easier to deal with simple truths. Broken men were brought to her, and she did her best to send them away whole, or at least less broken. That was her role, and she executed it with more and more skill. The first amputation she attended nearly left her incapacitated for a week, and while it never became routine, it did become bearable over time.

The end of July found her attending her duties at what became called the Battle of Talavera that left so many injured it was impossible to count, and then a fast retreat back to Portugal when the French counterattacked amongst infighting among the Allies, which was just about as she expected to find with a bunch of roosters trying to decide strategy amongst themselves.

She was kept busy, some weeks moving half a dozen times, and other times staying in one spot for weeks at a time, but always busy as could be.

She was still with Viscount Wellington, in the middle of the fighting as usual. Through the long winter of 1813 and the early spring of 1814, she continued to do her duty. Sometimes it was harder… sometimes easier. Sometimes they moved every week… sometimes they dug in for a longer stay. Some men were exemplars… some were scoundrels… some were little more than boys.

One day, she was looking after a badly damaged man with a fever, when a surgeon she had never met before breezed into the room.

"Nurse, we need to get this man up and on his feet?"

"He can barely manage to lay there without pain, Sir. Does he not need rest?"

The surgeon looked at her as if preparing himself for a long battle, which would be repetition of previous long battles, so Elizabeth forestalled him.

"Please, Sir. I am not being recalcitrant. I truly wish to know what is best. Could you explain your reasoning?"

The man looked at her as if to judge her intelligence and continued.

"It is simple, Nurse…?"

"Dashwood, Sir."

"Ah, Nurse Dashwood. Are you Elinor or Marianne?"

Elizabeth gasped at the question but was reassured when the surgeon gave her an exaggerated wink.

"Do not fear, Miss Dashwood. I may the only authority on the entire continent that has read that novel."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Mother, Sister or wife, Sir?"

"Sister… I share guardianship of my younger sister with a widowed aunt. I am to approve all reading material."

"I hope you approved it, Sir?"

"Of course. I suggested more of the same. Oh, I am Dr. Smithson. Do you want orders or explanations?"

"The latter if you have time."

"Well, Miss Dashwood… men who are injured like that who just remain in bed 'resting and recovering' are simply practicing for death, and sooner or later, they opt for the real thing. Men that are up and about are practicing for life, and they similarly will get what they work at. Nothing comes for free."

"So, you are saying that moving about will help them heal?"

"Yes, that has been my experience."

Dr Smithson watched the nurse carefully to judge how long it was going to take _this one_ to listen to him and was gratified to see her eyes kind of cross while her fingers were unconsciously counting. She stayed that way for a few minutes, apparently remembering past patients, and finally replied.

"I believe you are correct, Sir. I am sorry I did not think of it before."

"Do not be. It is counterintuitive and against prevailing nonsense… errr, wisdom.."

"Yes, Sir. So, may I ask some further advice?"

"Of course!"

"These men are for the most part big and reluctant towards pain. I am, as you can plainly see, tiny. How am I to coerce them to do my bidding when you are long gone."

The doctor just chuckled, and said, "You have to act like an officer, Miss. Some of them will react to orders. If you have time to build up their respect, they will out of respect for you; thought doing it out of respect for your profession is a bit much to hope for."

"Sounds like a hopeless business, Doctor. I do not have time to laboriously build up their respect."

"The fear is your friend, Nurse Dashwood."

Elizabeth gasped, and replied, "Fear, Sir?"

"Yes… fear. It is quite simple really. When you come to a new place, find a bully. There is always at least one. Make him understand that you can make him hurt… publicly. That should usually do the trick?"

Elizabeth gasped in horror, and asked, "You are suggesting I torture a man to gain compliance?"

"Absolutely. What is a little pain compared to a lot of death, Miss Dashwood? Yes, they need to fear you. Do not worry… it usually only takes one."

"If you say so, Sir."

"I do. Then, as to the matter of your size… you are surrounded by anywhere from dozens to hundreds of soldiers. If someone needs to be dragged out by the scruff of the neck, just issue some orders. The men are accustomed to obeying orders so long as it sounds authoritative."

"So, I am to pretend to be an officer?"

"Absolutely!"

"If you say so, Sir."

Elizabeth was dubious but watched as he put his suggestions into practice. The first bully showed up within a half‑hour, as they usually did, and all it took to put him in his place was not being as careful with removing bandages as one might hope. Dr. Smithson also suggested things that could be added to food or water to make life unpleasant for a short time, and the time‑honored technique of simply rapping knuckles with something hard and sharp. English schoolboys had been taught for generations to react to that one.

It was some months before Elizabeth really felt comfortable with the technique, but she had to admit it was efficacious. She had men that were on death's door walking out of the surgery in no time and thanked the doctor for his advice profusely.

She respected the doctor and thought in another life she might well have liked him had she not already given her heart away, though little did the recipient know that. Her happiest day since leaving Longbourn was when she stood up as Dr. Smithson took another nurse to wife, and thought she might have made a river, or at least a middling stream of tears of happiness for her two friends.

* * *

Early November found Elizabeth in the Basque country in Northern Spain to attend the Battle of Nivelle. It was a victory for the Allied forces but came at a high cost as usual. With well over 2,000 killed or wounded, she was busy for days, and then weeks.

A fortnight later, she sank into her pallet in exhaustion, when another nurse named Smithson, who was no relation to the surgeon sank in beside her and started speaking.

"Ah, Lizzy. What a perfectly dreadful way to spend my birthday."

"I have lost count of the days, Jane. What is the date?"

"The 26th of November."

Suddenly, Elizabeth felt a bit of soul-crushing loneliness. It was one year to the day since the Netherfield ball, and in that time, she had traded the possibility of a fine life with the finest man she had ever known for a life of toil and drudgery. She did not regret her choice. If she could go back to that naïve young woman of the previous year, even with her knowledge of what was to happen, she would still advise her to be strong and make the right choice.

Though the decision and its aftermath had been difficult and dangerous, Elizabeth looked back on the previous year with satisfaction. How many young ladies of her station could brag of hundreds of healthy young men who would otherwise be dead young men? Were those not sufficient bragging rights to make up for missing out on mastering the latest bit of Mozart on the pianoforte? Yes, her choice had been difficult, but she did not regret it… most of the time.

"Well, a joyous birthday to you, Jane. Did you know I have an elder sister named 'Jane'?"

Elizabeth had shared some confidences with some of the nurses over the past year, and sometimes when she was talking to young men that might not survive the night, she had mentioned stories of her family, but she was still slightly uncomfortable with the disclosure.

"Was she older or younger?"

"She was the eldest. I was second, and then three behind me."

"No wonder you took up this occupation. It must have been a madhouse."

"Yes, I imagine I have been well trained to deal with dozens of men."

Both ladies laughed a bit.

Elizabeth looked around to make sure they were unobserved and pulled out a small flask of brandy that an officer had given her in appreciation. She rarely partook, but was this not a special occasion?

"Jane was the kindest person I ever knew. She never thought a single unkind thought in her life."

"I presume you are happy she is not here then?"

"More than I can say. This life would kill her."

"It will kill us as well after a while, Lizzy. We will either be dead-dead, or dead inside."

They both nodded, took their sips of brandy, and spend the rest of the evening talking about their families. Even though Elizabeth thought that Jane might have it right, that this live might kill her, she felt proud of her accomplishments and content with the choices she had made in her life.

After Jane drank the rest of her brandy and fell asleep, Elizabeth dug into her bags and pulled out her money. She had started with the £137 that she obtained from 'GW' and had saved all her army pay to date, so she had quite enough to live well for several years. Perhaps, she could find a small village somewhere, and purchase a bookshop. It was a nice dream, that carried her into a contented sleep.

* * *

Traveling over the Pyrenees in December was not as diverting as it sounded, and Elizabeth arrived in Southern France, still traveling with the Viscount. Her life became a steady stream of battles, advances, retreats, and always… always… death and suffering and doing what she could do to reduce it.

By the time the one‑year anniversary of her conversation with Miss Darcy had come and gone, she was beginning to wonder if it would ever end, but she kept to her business without complaint. Viscount Wellington was seeing more and more success, and by the anniversary of her Easter visit with the Viscount and his sliver, she was elbow deep in the battle of Toulouse.

* * *

Two months later, everything changed. In June, Napoleon was defeated and abdicated. He was to be exiled to Elba Island, and Elizabeth's year and a half long association with violence and death came nearly to an end. There were of course more men to take care of, and more treatments to be done, but the army was not going to need quite so many nurses as they had in the past, and Elizabeth thought she was due a holiday.

She asked for and was granted a leave of some duration. It helped to have a friend in charge of all the allied forces. The Viscount asked her to remain with his retinue as he returned to adulation in England, and Elizabeth was tempted… very tempted. Word was that the Viscount was going to become the Duke of Wellington, and if anybody could set aside any worries about prosecution for Ramsgate, it would be a Duke… but Elizabeth was not ready to do that. To get the Duke to make it go away, she would have to admit to it. She did not really think that the man would care a whit about one scoundrel who had been killed several years ago, but Elizabeth just could not quite do it.

Jane was also ready to decamp and was planning to visit Brussels. Her father owned a bookshop, and Elizabeth thought that it might well be a place where she could be content for a while. The two ladies would be able to talk about their experience, and perhaps help each other through the absolute shock of seeing how ordinary ladies carried on in their daily lives. They expected it to be difficult.

Elizabeth wondered at her reluctance to return to England, and eventually just decided it was for the best. Her instructions to Mr. Darcy had been without ambiguity, and if she believed anything, it was that his honor would force him towards happiness. Yes, it might have been true that he could have loved her at one time if she put some effort into it, but her analysis with Lina had been correct. The daughter of an insignificant country squire did not become Mistress of Pemberley. Even less likely was the insignificant daughter of an insignificant country squire who had run away from home and spent a year among the roughest men in the world. No, that was one dream that would never come true, and aside from losing Mr. Darcy himself, Elizabeth would not allow herself to miss what was in the past.

* * *

March of 1815 found Elizabeth firmly ensconced in Brussels, and while she found the life easy, it was _missing something_. True to her design, Jane's father did in fact own a good bookstore, and she found a few months of working there to be the tonic she had needed after a full year of nothing but war. She wondered just how long it would take her to acclimate herself to peace, how long it would take her to quite waking up screaming in the middle of the night, just how long it would take to feel some contentment, and most importantly, just how long it would take to finally forget about a tall gentleman from Derbyshire, who was almost certain to be welcoming his heir sometime soon.

When she heard the news about Napoleon's escape from Elba and subsequent landing at Cannes, it was if the scales had fallen from her eyes, and she saw the future. She took every newspaper she could get, and in the book shop, that was just about every newspaper available. She took to haunting tea shops and coffee houses and sitting entirely too close to any men of consequence that she thought might be able to learn.

It was completely by chance that she was at the market picking up some fish for dinner when the Duke of Wellington entered the city. He made quite a spectacle as he always did, and she was somewhat fortunate to be right in front of a substantial crowd of people to see him march into the city.

She was unsure if she should be surprised or it was just destiny when the Duke stopped his horse right in front of her, and said, "Nurse Dashwood, you are out of uniform."


	31. The Farmhouse

The graveyard was the first thing Darcy saw as he exited from the coach. He wondered just how many of the men out there his Elizabeth had tended, and how many were avoiding the place because of her care. He had done quite a lot for the war effort on his own, but that was not personal. He had donated money and supplies. He had sponsored boys from Pemberley into the army or the navy. He had taken care of every Derbyshire man that came back broken. Sometimes those acts of kindness or patriotism managed to align with his other previous acts. Some of the disgraced women and children he had been supporting for years were happy to have a man about the house, even if he was not complete. He had done a lot, but had he done _enough?_

In the end, it did not matter. He could no more have gone off to fight leaving his estate to rack and ruin than he could fly, but it still bothered him that the love of his life had suffered through it because she had protected _his sister._ He hoped beyond all hope that she had not found another worthy man in the prior two years, and there was only one way to find out.

* * *

"Mr. Darcy!"

Elizabeth gasped in surprise, and just barely managed to perform a curtsey from long engrained but lately neglected habit. The surprise of seeing the actual in the flesh Fitzwilliam Darcy in her midst left her more flustered than she had been in some time. It was not quite as flustered as her first amputation, but a very close second.

"Miss Bennet… I realize you do not use that name anymore, but I cannot use another."

His bow was deep, slow and stately. He would have given less deference to Queen Charlotte or the Prince Regent, and it was obvious to Elizabeth.

He stepped forward to where only a pace separated them and decided that pressing his luck usually worked with Elizabeth, so he put out his hand for hers. Much to his pleasure, she gave him her hand and he lifted it to his lips, slowly and reverently, then kissed it without the slightest pretense at propriety while looking wide eyed at her face.

The smile Elizabeth gave him made his heart melt, and _taught him to hope, as he had scarcely ever allowed himself to hope before._ In fact, it made him the boldest he had ever been. He had allowed timidity, fear and caution allow her to slip away once before and was disinclined to let it happen again.

As always, pushing his luck seemed to be called for, so instead of releasing her hand like a gentleman should, he very gently tugged it towards him. It was only enough of a tug to indicate his desires, but light enough that she could shake it off without issue if she so chose. His heart nearly pounded from his chest when she closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his waist, and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tilted his head down to lay beside hers, and said… well, to be honest, he had no idea what to say so opted for silence.

Several minutes or more must have gone by in contented silence, before Elizabeth finally turned her head to the side so she could talk without losing contact, and said, "Mr. Darcy, we have much more flexible ideas of decorum here on the continent, but I can assure you I have never done this before. You surprised me, Sir."

He whispered, "A surprise, but I hope not unwelcome, Elizabeth?"

She just shook her head, and said, "Never unwelcome."

They stood for a few more minutes in contented silence, until Elizabeth started feeling nervous and jittery. She released him, carefully stepped back and asked, "Tea?"

"Please"

The relief of having a simple and rote task to perform gave Elizabeth a few minutes to restore her composure.

"The army does not have the best tea, but I am accustomed to it. I hope you do not mind."

"Serve me mud-water and I will be content."

She giggled, and said, "No, not that. We only drink that in France."

The casual way she mentioned it showed him just how much experience and pain separated them, and he wanted so much to close the distance, but did not quite know how.

"How did you find me, Sir?"

Darcy laughed, and said, "My cousin told me about you. He was most impressed with you, though admitted it was partly fear. He asked me to set up an annuity for you."

"Your cousin?"

"Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"You are Cousin Will?"

"I am. Did you not notice that you addressed one of the letters to Clairmont House?"

Elizabeth looked embarrassed and said, "I… well, I remember I wrote one letter for him when I had been up for a night and a day, but he wanted so much for you to know he was alive. I am afraid the name never even registered. I saw your townhouse once but did not connect the name."

Darcy looked chagrined, and said, "You had forgotten me already?"

Elizabeth looked pained, "No… I…"

Wondering how to avoid the awkward moment, she got up to bring the tea and some biscuits.

She sat them down on a small table in the front parlor of the farmhouse they were using for the last of the men being treated. They awkwardly consumed a few minutes with the ceremony of taking tea, but at long last she spoke.

"I could never quite forget you, Mr. Darcy. I have tried, and sometimes succeeded for a time, but that is all."

"Nor I, you."

They sat for a few minutes, and Elizabeth finally began what she expected to be a painful conversation.

"Why are you here, Sir? You need not agree to your cousin's scheme. I am comfortably situated."

The idea that she might think he was just there to see to her living had never occurred to Darcy, so he gasped, scooted ahead in his chair and took her hands.

"No, no, no… That is just how Richard started. I am here to take you home."

Elizabeth looked down at the floor, carefully disentangled her hands, sat back to the very back of her chair, and said, "I am home, Sir."

"No, you are not. I want to take you to your home. Elizabeth, you have done wonderous and amazing things. I could not be prouder of you nor more impressed by you, but you have done your share. It is time to come home."

Elizabeth casually said, "I thank you for the sentiment Mr. Darcy. I do with all my heart, but I cannot return to Longbourn, nor can I explain why that is the case."

Darcy wanted to beat his fists into his head because he was making a complete muddle of the whole business. His Elizabeth tended to have that effect on him, so he decided he had better start making some sense.

"Elizabeth, please… I am making a complete muddle of this… You see… There are two things confusing the issue…"

He paused for a moment trying to reorder his scattered thoughts.

"The first is that, while you are welcome at Longbourn at any time, that is not your home."

Elizabeth's eyes scrunched in confusion and said, "Where is my home, Sir?"

"Pemberley"

Elizabeth looked completely startled once again, but then, with tears starting in her eyes, she said, "I appreciate the sentiment, but I cannot return to England."

Darcy said, "Please, Elizabeth. I _know_ _why_ you believe that, and though I am making a complete mess of this, I came here to tell you that is no longer true."

Elizabeth gasped, dug her nails into her palm, turned pale and stared at the ground, while her whole body started to shake.

Finally, she whispered, "She told you. She told you the truth."

In a complete panic, Darcy slid out of the chair onto the floor and took her hands in his. He was gratified and hopeful when she grasped his hands tightly, apparently without thought. He was also deeply shamed because she was staring to cry, and it was his fault. He had weeks to get his conversation straight and had made a complete mess of it.

"Sometimes Elizabeth, there is more than one truth. Will you allow me to tell you _the truth?"_

Elizabeth could not speak, so she just nodded and squeezed his hands tighter.

"My sister told me a true story. It was about the bravest woman she ever saw or heard of. This unknown woman saved her life, and then left her family to go on a perilous journey to a dangerous occupation just to protect all the people she loves. My sister of course has no idea who that woman is, but she is in awe of her, as am I. Georgiana and I are both humbled and eternally grateful."

Elizabeth was still crying, but the sentiment put a small smile on her face. She could not speak for a moment, but said, "So, now you understand."

Darcy said, "Not quite, but I am not as young as I once was. May we try a different posture."

He could have happily sat there on his knees all night but pushing his luck had never failed him before.

Elizabeth said, "Of course."

Darcy stood up, making a great deal of fuss in the process, but keeping her hands in his. Then he lifted her out of her seat, pulled her over, then on one smooth move sat down in his own chair and pulled her down on his lap.

She let out a squeak, followed by a giggle and a smile that melted his heart.

"I have another absolutely true story, if you are willing to hear it."

"Proceed at your leisure, Sir."

Now that he understood it, Darcy could see the basic conflict that his Elizabeth had been showing him every time they had ever met. She liked him but feared him. Loved him but wanted to protect him. She was happy and sad. Now was the time to resolve some of that confusion.

"Something you may or may not know is that gambling is endemic in England, particularly among the upper classes. Every day men, and the occasional woman, gamble away fortunes, jewelry, ships, estates, dowries, legacies… anything of value can be bet on anything from a roll of the dice to the outcome of a cockfight."

"Yes, I have seen that. I even see it in the lower classes."

"Well, there are some men who run out of money but just cannot abide to be out of the game, so they borrow on their luck… so called 'debts of honor'"

Elizabeth thought back to the notes in 'GW's' billfold, and just nodded for Fitzwilliam to get on with it.

"There are men who make a business of loaning to these men at enormous usury rates. It is another type of gambling, since quite a lot of the debts will never be honored, but they do make a business of it. This story is about one such man with the odd name of Miles Mileston. Apparently, his parents had a sense of humor."

Wondering where he was going with this rambling story, Elizabeth just cocked an eyebrow to get the story going again.

"Well, this Mr. Mileston preferred for his clients to make every possible effort to repay, so when one did not, he paid any number of men to 'collect'. Sometimes, these men would break a leg or some other such appendage. If that was not efficacious, he would pay another sort of man to kill them. The going rate for a killing was £40."

Elizabeth gasped at that. Though two years of war had inured her to pain and death, to put such a low value to a man's life was beyond the pale.

"One such man who took up this particular er… trade… was named Archibald Cook, who could claim more than two dozen such jobs completed."

Getting a sinking feeling, Elizabeth asked, "What does this have to do with me?"

"Not a thing. Not one single thing. This is just another absolutely true story that I think you may find interesting."

Elizabeth looked at him suspiciously, and said, "If you are here to woo, this seems an odd sort of proposal… presuming your quip about Pemberley was not some indication that you wanted to hire me as a housekeeper."

Darcy laughed uproariously, probably out of proportion to the humor of the joke, but then he thought of a legal term that he frequently saw in contracts. A clause would start out with _'for the avoidance of doubt…'_ and then go on to explain in some detail what the clause meant in unmistakable terms, so he simply wrapped his hand behind Elizabeth's head, reached down very slowly and carefully and kissed her very gently. It was a first real kiss for either and it left them both breathless.

Elizabeth's mind was in such confusion and turmoil she could hardly think, but her primary thought is that she might well be willing to face the hangman for more of that.

Finally, her thoughts cleared, and she said, "Are you going to continue this fascinating tale, Sir?"

Somewhat flustered himself, Darcy continued.

"A month ago, I happened to be visiting Ramsgate, and I became aware of a report of the demise of a man I played with as a boy. His name was George Wickham, and he appeared to have come to some harm. His father was my father's steward at Pemberley, so in honor of his father I initiated an investigation into his demise. It turns out he was a degenerate gambler. He had somehow borrowed money from Mr. Mileston, some debts that he could not repay. Mr. Cook, under instruction killed the bounder two summers ago, tossed his body into the ocean, and collected his £40. It turns out when a man is set for a date with the hangman, sometimes they want to clear their conscience. He confessed to killing the man and collecting his money, and Mr. Mileston verifies that he paid it out. Of course, both were hanged, and the Assize has managed to check one more unsolved crime off their list."

Elizabeth sat in stunned disbelief, while Darcy tried his best not to look smug. It turned out his best was not all that good, but he did try, and she gave him credit for that.

"So, this man… this scoundrel… this George Wickham is supposedly dead _at the hand of Mr. Cook?_"

"Yes… That is the absolute truth, signed, witnessed and thoroughly documented. English Law is completely satisfied."

Elizabeth nodded a few times, and unable to say anything, started a few times to ask 'How' but Darcy simply put his finger on her lips to silence her.

She tried a few times, and finally tried a different tack.

"Have you any _other_ truths to tell me Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "Remember when I offered to help out the young lady, we mentioned on that day back in Meryton. I mentioned that I occasionally indulged in such a pastime?"

"Yes"

"Well, I have expanded the program while you were away. It turns out that there are quite a lot of war widows, which should not surprise you in the least."

"It does not."

"Well, I have set about trying to develop good situations for them. There are quite a lively lot. There are Mrs. Buxton, Mrs. Books, Mrs. Brunton, Mrs. Cany, Mrs. Cooper, Mrs. _Cook_, Mrs…"

"Wait… Mrs. Cook?"

"Yes"

"A _war_ widow, you say?"

"Well… a widow anyway. It seems her husband had an unfortunate occupation, that ended in a dispute with a rope, and since he had a connection with my former childhood friend, well… Let us see… then we have Mrs. Cranston…"

Elizabeth looked at the man carefully, held her hand for silence. Then she asked with some trepidation, "Fitzwilliam, let us just say that Mr. Cook collected his £40. I can assure you that he did _not_ earn his money 'honestly' because …"

Darcy silenced her with a finger on her lips, just to see if it would work, perfectly prepared to use his own lips if it was inadequate.

She stared at him and said, "We are alone here William. I would have the _truth?_ We need not ever speak of it again, but I would know."

Sighing in resignation, Darcy looked at her carefully, and began.

"Truth is not always truth, Elizabeth… Let me tell you story that is a truth, but not the truth."

"All right."

"You are aware that there are seven classes of English society, from royalty in the first to criminals, vagrants and paupers in the seventh?"

"Of course."

"Elizabeth, we were both born into the second class. I was born a gentleman and you a gentleman's daughter. We were born equal; would you not agree? "

"Perhaps."

"Well, let us just hypothetically say that a gentleman's daughter killed a man with a walking stick and dumped him in the ocean. This might be a truth, even though it is not the truth. She would descend from the second class to the seventh were she ever discovered."

"Yes, she would be a criminal… for a few days."

"Now, let us also suppose a gentleman found a scoundrel bound for the gallows, and offered to support his wife and children for their lives in exchange for a believable declaration of yet one more death added to his reckoning. Would that man not then descend to the seventh class for obstructing justice, thus making him equal with this hypothetical gentleman's daughter once again?"

Elizabeth stared at him in wonder, and finally asked, "You did that for m…"

Darcy did not want the words spoken aloud. Words spoken aloud gathered some currency in the mind, so he shut her up by the usual method.

Some few minutes later, she said, "So it is true? I am safe? I can come home? Will I have a reputation left?"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "Oh, yes, you will have a reputation. Your father was quite brilliant about disbursing your story so everyone in Meryton is convinced you went to tend a sick relative. When we found out what you had really been doing, he went back to work and now it appears everyone in Meryton has known for years that you are a war hero to be feted and celebrated."

Elizabeth said, "What? How?"

Darcy just chuckled, and said, "I do not pretend to understand. It just is. You will have to ask your father if you are curious."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "So, are there any more truths I should know about, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy laughed, and said, "Well, perhaps some clarification. I do not intend for you to be my housekeeper."

"Upstairs Maid?"

Darcy just laughed heartily, and said, "Let us dispense with all doubt, Elizabeth. Your home is Pemberley. Your position is its mistress. Your fate is to hold my heart in your hands until death us do part. I love you and have loved you since time began. Now either agree to be my wife, or I will kiss you again and ask again and repeat until I wear you down."

Elizabeth laughed heartily, her very first true laugh in longer than she could remember and kissed him soundly just to remove any doubt, then said, "I always did assert that you were implacably stubborn."

They kissed for a few more minutes, then Elizabeth jumped up, and said, "Come with me."

She grabbed his hand and dragged him down the stairs to a room on the ground floor. There he found three men at their rest, playing a hand of whist. Elizabeth pointed to two of them and said, "Fitzwilliam, these are the O'Malley brothers. They need to return to Ireland, and there is some possibility they will owe a few hundred pounds to their laird. Can you accommodate them?"

Darcy laughed, and said, "Of course!"

All the noise had brought in a lady of around forty years, who said, "What is all this fuss, Miss Lizzy?"

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Mrs. Small, this is my betrothed, Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Small looked Darcy up and down a few times, and said, "Are you sure? He does not look like much."

"He is tolerable."

Mrs. Small said, "Well, if you say so."

"I do say so. Now, will you be all right. You will be the last here except for Mr. Oliver. You would solve a lot of problems if you would just accept one of his proposals."

"Oh, you girl! You know I have just been waiting for the rest of the young ones to be settled."

Elizabeth laughed, and said, "Well, that is easily done. Mr. Oliver, will you do the honors? In English, if you please."

Darcy wondered what 'the honors' amounted to and watched curiously as Mrs. Small helped Mr. Oliver to his feet. The man was about Mrs. Small's age and missing one leg and two fingers from his left hand. He stood in front of the two.

"English? Are you certain, Miss Lizzy? Would it not be much better in French? Vous parlez bien français."

"Non, anglais s'il vous plait?"

"Español?"

"No, ingles por favor "

"Português?"

Elizabeth just looked at him in exasperation, shook her finger at him and huffed a bit.

The man grumbled, and said, "All right, please take her hand. You have the ring?"

Darcy just looked confused and said, "Ring?"

The man just shook his head in exasperation, dug around in his pockets for several minutes, and produced a ring that looked like it cost a farthing a decade ago and handed it to Darcy.

"All right, let us begin. Dearly beloved…"

* * *

As a young girl, Elizabeth Bennet, like most girls who came before her had dreamed of her wedding night with stars in her eyes. In the end, she was astounded at how much her actual wedding night matched up with her dreams. Just as in her wildest dreams she married a handsome and stubborn man in front of a one‑legged chaplain. Exactly as in her dream, she experienced the first night of wedded bliss in a narrow cot, on the first floor of an abandoned farmhouse, next to a huge graveyard, three miles from the last battle of the Napoleonic Wars.

It was perfect!

~~ Finis ~~


	32. Epilogue

The scream was cut off after only a few seconds, but the young lady recognized it instantly. There are screams, and then there are **_screams_**. This was definitely one of the latter - the _good_ kind. Whoever made the noise was clearly experiencing some type of strong emotion. It was early morning, with the sun just barely above the horizon, casting a beautiful light over the open harbor of Ramsgate.

Not one to overly analyze any situation, the young lady hiked up her skirts and ran like a house afire towards the sound. The scream had not been overly loud, so she could conclude that whoever made it was reasonably close, and that it was unlikely anybody else had heard the noise. She had never seen anyone else, other than her own family and friends, in this area at this time of day in the several weeks she had been enjoying her morning constitutionals in the area. It seemed like it would be her task to deal with whatever this particular situation entailed. She ran like mad across the patch of grass that ran for around fifty yards from the seawall to a stand of trees, hearing the waves crashing in the rocks below the steep cliff, and eventually got close enough to hear another scream start, that once again was strangled off right in the middle.

The lady finally managed to achieve her goal, when she crashed around a short hedgerow directly into contact with the mysterious screamer.

What she found was quite obviously the most badly executed abduction in history. A gentleman was clearly absconding with a young lady, but he was making abominably poor progress, since all he was doing was grabbing her around the waist and spinning her in circles while her short scream turned into heartfelt laughter. The lady was making a very poor showing of her escape, since her hands were grabbing the gentleman's shoulders with equal force. Then the entire operation got even less efficient, when the lady decided to fight back. Her methods bordered on violence, but since ladies were not taught to fight properly with fists, she apparently selected the tactic of wrapping her arms around the gentleman's neck and trying to smother him with a kiss.

The young lady decided an intervention was obviously required.

"_Lady Elinor Fitzwilliam,_ what in the world are you doing with my brother?"

She stamped her foot to emphasize her point and carried on relentlessly.

"_Bennet Cornelius Darcy_, what is the meaning of this display?"

Attacker and rescuer looked at her, and all three burst out laughing.

The gentleman said, "Hello, Mimi. As you can see, I have just proposed to Lady Elinor, and she has accepted."

**"About time!"**

The three were just laughing a bit more, when another voice entered the small copse.

"About time, indeed. I was just about to stage a compromise."

Mimi, or more properly, Mary Caroline Darcy, curtsied with the same bow she had used on her curtsy to the Queen a half‑year earlier, and said, "Well met, My Lady. You are just in time."

"Do not start on me. You are worse than your mother."

Lady Caroline Fitzwilliam, smiled at her god-niece Mimi and her daughter Elinor, and said, "No more of those curtsies, you rascal."

She then turned to the erstwhile couple and said, "So, you managed to bring the lunkhead to the point, finally. Well done, Elinor."

Not to be outdone, Bennet Darcy replied, "You mean I finally wore down her implacable resistance, Lady Lina?"

Everyone in the group laughed. The pair had been essentially a couple since they both came out at seventeen two years previously. They had been nearly inseparable most of their lives, alternating between being best childhood friends and worst childhood enemies as relationships were wont to do. Adolescence had increased the swings the point where they vacillated between ecstasy and Armageddon. The rougher patches had been worn away long ago, but both had taken their parent's advice that there was a long time to be married, and a short time to be single, so there was no particular hurry. With the long‑awaited betrothal, they would be married at twenty, which seemed about right to everyone.

The Fitzwilliam's had lived near the Darcys for all their children's lives. For the first decade, it was simply retired Colonel Fitzwilliam and his wife Caroline on a small estate near Kypmton, purchased with the Colonel's savings and Caroline's dowry. There, the four Darcy and five Fitzwilliam children spent their childhoods learning accomplishments and responsibilities, whilst thoroughly enjoying each other's company most of the time. The eldest were the first to be betrothed, and the only ones expected between the families, but everyone always knew how it would be.

Five years earlier, the relationship had changed somewhat when Mrs. Caroline Fitzwilliam became Lady Caroline Fitzwilliam, Countess of Matlock. Her husband, Richard Fitzwilliam, the new Earl of Matlock grumbled about the change, (or whinged if you asked Liza Darcy), but knuckled down to do his duty. During the first decade after Waterloo, while he had lived quite contentedly as a husband and landowner thoroughly in love with his wife, his brother had done his best to bankrupt the Earldom, and his best had been quite good. It had taken everything the new Earl could get from his estate, and some rather large loans from the Darcy and Bingley families to keep it afloat. The only thing that had saved the estate in one piece was an entail enacted by the current Earl's grandfather. The new Earl, as his brother before him, was only a life tenant like Mr. Bennet, so while his brother had managed to deplete all the ready cash, the estate itself and all its lands had been protected. The new Earl of Matlock and his smarter than average wife took their business seriously, and after a decade of hard work between them and their three sons, the estate had turned around. They had paid off all the debts, and it was nearly as prosperous as ever.

The Earl entered the grove next, accompanied by his cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy, having previously arranged to meet their wives there. Almost nobody in the family had any idea why the family had a tradition of walking this particular path by the seawall, but they had been doing so for many years. Everyone loved the view of the ocean, and the path was peaceful and usually practically empty, so nobody had any need to dispute the selection. Mrs. Georgiana Dashwood and her sister in law Elizabeth Darcy had started the tradition not long after Mrs. Darcy returned from the wars, and they always walked alone at least once and usually twice per week with every visit. Nobody knew why, nor did they feel any need to ask.

Mrs. Dashwood was a close confidant of her elder sister in law Elizabeth. She had lived with her brother and his wife for another year after coming out at nineteen, right about the time her brother had married his bride in a farmhouse near Brussels. Fate eventually threw her into the path of a Captain Dashwood, a Navy Captain of some repute. It seemed inevitable that they should be destined for each other, and she always thought that since her brother had displaced one Dashwood with a Darcy, it was only fitting that she should redress the world's balance by replacing one Darcy with a Dashwood. All was right in the world once again.

Whether by fate or coincidence, Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Dashwood entered the small glade just a moment later, and both said, "About time."

Everyone was in the middle of laughing, when Earl and the Sea Captain joined the circle, along with their good friends the Bingleys and the Hursts. The eldest of the next generation was both a Bingley _and_ a Hurst. Mrs. Elizabeth Hurst was still affectionately known as Little Lizzy by her closest family and she had never disputed the name, since it showed affection for her favorite Aunt… and the fact that she had never even approached five feet of height, let alone surpassed it. Her husband, Robert Hurst was the eldest of a distant cousin of her mother's sister, Mrs. Hurst. They lived around a half‑day's journey from the family estate of Netherfield where she had grown up, and they had been married for three years with one child to show for it.

With many glad tidings, someone finally asked if celebrating a betrothal with only a half‑dozen of the large extended families on a cliffside out of doors was the best way to go about it.

The Earl of Matlock startled, and said, "**Betrothal**, am I going daft. Is it actually a betrothal if the gentleman has not asked the perspective bride's father for permission?"

Everyone laughed again, since not a single person could remember a single thing Elinore Fitzwilliam had ever really wanted that had not been granted. The lady had been very young, and somewhat naughty when her favorite Aunt Elizabeth spoke to her one day.

"Elinore, have you ever noticed that you are a person who can wear down the resistance of anybody, and wheedle your way to anything you want."

The young Elinore had beamed with pride at the presumed compliment.

Her mother had continued, "Well, Child. You should understand this. The ability to get people to do what you want is a power. With great power comes great responsibility. You can do great good or great harm, young lady. Please insure you use it wisely."

For some reason, despite her young age, those words had stuck with Elinore Fitzwilliam for the rest of her life. She did not always use her power wisely, but eventually, as she grew beyond the bounds of childhood, she came to regret the times she did not do so and enjoy the times she did. Eventually, there were more of the latter and less of the former.

As the group prepared to return to their lodgings, Elinore and Bennet looked at each other and nodded. They walked over to the group with smiles on their faces.

There in the grove, looking out to sea, Bennet Darcy bowed to the Earl of Matlock, and began the heartfelt speech he had prepared for the occasion. Long experience had taught him that big groups were best. They were not traditional, but they did cut down on the Colonel's merciless teasing considerably. It was not that the Colonel was less inclined to teasing, but that he could be easily distracted so others might take some of the brunt. Bennet had not gotten the first two words out before the Earl started.

"Of course, you have my blessing, Son."

Bennet, foiled, just laughed and leaned over to kiss his betrothed on the cheek.

That young lady smiled, turned to her future mother in law, and asked, "Aunt Liza, do you remember what you told me when I was ten?"

"Of course, Elinore. I cannot pretend to have invented the words though. They are what I try to live my life by, and I got them from my mother."

"I remember, and I believe I can safely assert that I followed them. _I have chosen wisely._"

~~ Finis ~~

* * *

_A/N: There you have it gang, story 20 in the can. At 90k words it's about double the size I originally envisioned, which is about usual for me. My estimates of story lengths are notoriously bad. _

_This story has been by far my most read and most commented in-progress work, so it seems to have touched a nerve. I am eternally grateful for all the kind comments, and thankful for the useful constructive criticism. I read and enjoy every one, thought I cannot respond to very many._

_The whole Lina storyline was not a part of the original concept. The original idea was almost all E&D, and that one just sprang out of nowhere. Most of the rest of it is exactly to the original plan, and the resolution is exactly what I originally envisioned. It was important for this to be both protagonists solving the core problem independently. I wanted it to be collaborative, not one‑sided as in canon._

_I think modern readers cannot possibly imagine the emotional difficulties a situation like this would wreak on a Regency woman, so I don't pretend to. In fact, almost nobody who has not experienced something like this can really understand even for a modern person, but I try my best. Lizzy was obviously suffering from PTSD, as you would expect. Not everything she did was efficient or sensible, but I do like to think it would have been consistent. The ladies of Elizabeth's station would have been quite sheltered, so the whole experience would have been much more of a shock than it might be for someone of the other classes. I tried to get it as close as I reasonably could, and I hope you enjoyed it._

_Wade_


End file.
